To Lead A Flock To Slaughter
by Emily 'Gadget' Robins
Summary: Gadget has been in the 141 for 5 years now. When Roach joins the team and the events of MW2-3 come into play, how will things blow over? More importantly, will she even live to see the end? Sequel to 'Where It All Begins'. !Please Review! Chap 32 is up!
1. Death in the Family

**[UPDATING File Logs]**

**{Open File 14130}**

**[LOADING File]**

**[FILE Complete]**

**{Run Prgm.}**

**[RUNNING Locating Prgm.]**

**[TRANSMITTING Data]**

**[Simon 'Ghost' Riley's POV]**

**(Death in the Family)**

I stagger out of the helo, feeling depressed and dizzy. Mactavish hurries by, supporting Roach who's gone into a bit of shock. I shake my head, trying to clear it. We lost two men today. Two brave men who were willing to give up everything.

Needing to get away from everyone and write this down in my notebook, I slip off to the barracks, still in all of my gear. I walk silently into my room. Royce and I used to share it, but after today he won't be coming back.

_Quit thinking like that_, I remind myself sharply. _They wouldn't want you to be moping_. I pull off my vest and other gear, dumping it on my bunk. Yanking off my gloves and pulling on a black t-shirt I run through the information we got out of Alejandro…or Alex the Red or whoever he really was. Frankly, I don't give a bloody rat's rear about who we just tortured; all I know is that this 627 could change everything.

I glance in the mirror. My balaclava stays firmly in place, though I'm now dressed in civilian attire. I sigh. As silly as it may sound, I don't feel natural in my civvies. After one gets used to wearing gear all the time, THAT becomes natural. I feel too light. Like something's missing.

I shake off the empty feeling, scribble the notes into the book, and head out to find Gadget. On my way I pass several men from other squads, who snap off stiff salutes. It's weird, being saluted. Even though it happens all through day to day life I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of having all of these men in my charge. Those two men who lost their lives were partially in my charge. Therefore, it's partially my fault their dead.

I check the workout room first, expecting to see her on the treadmill. The place is deserted so I don't waste any more time in there. Instead, I head down to the kitchen, my mind still on the previous mission.

We were just supposed to get in there, find Rojas, and get out. Instead we found Rojas's assistant, hunted Rojas down during an extreme firefight, caught Rojas, got our answers, and had to call in one of Mactavish's old buddies to pick us up since our own men were far too busy. Roach fell offa building and we had to circle around until the kid can get back on.

One would say that's a crazy day.

Around here we call it Tuesday.

Gadgets leaning against the counter, humming softly as she scrubs a dish in soapy water. I don't recognice the song, but right now I don't care. She wasn't on the mission and I missed her while we were gone.

I creep up behind her silently (I AM Ghost for a reason), "Hey."

She flinches, sloshing water down her sleeves. "CRIPES! Ghost give me a warning or something or I'm going to tie a bell on you."

"A bell?"

"So I can hear you coming."

"Well, that just defeats the whole purpose."

She glances at me over her shoulder. I know that look on her face; she's read my mind again. "You okay?"

"Yeah…I'm fine…a little shaken."

She nods in understanding, "The long trip will do that."

We prattle on for a while longer, just about training and what Gadget's making for dinner.

"I promised Meat I'd make grilled cheese this week, but I don't think we have any cheese in the fridge. If he gives me crap about that I swear—"

Whatever threats Gadget was making against Meat fall on deaf ears. Didn't she know? Hadn't anyone told her what had happened?

"Gadget," I murmer, catching her wrist as she reaches up to get a pan out of one of the upper cabinets.

"What is it?" She asks, examining my masked face in confusion. "Ghost, what's wrong?"

"Meat's not coming back."

"What?"

"Meat's…Meat's dead."

Gadget looks mortified for a moment, but then that serene look takes over her eyes again. "Oh…" She mutters, looking away. "Oh…"

"Royce is gone too."

Just saying it hurts. Meat and Royce were close friends with Gadget and I know she's probably going through an emotional hell right now just thinking about them being gone forever. She doesn't show it. Calm eyes occupy her face and her hands are steady as she grabs the pan and pulls it down.

I hop onto the counter and rub my temples. "They both died fighting…like they wanted."

A silent nod.

"Roach is taking it hard, he was with them when they…" I blink back tears, blocking my emotions quickly. No more of that, I reming myself. "When they died."

She nods again, equally stoic.

"Please say something, Gadget; I hate it when you're like this."

This time she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"C'mon," I urge again. "They wouldn't want you to be—"

Gadget interupts me, "Just give a second…I just need to…" She gestures wildly. "I just can't…"

I grasp her wrist again. "It's okay." I re-assure her. "It's all right. You don't have to keep a poker face around me. I won't judge you if you cry."

She smiles weakly, still holding up those walls. "It's fine…Really I just need to get it through my head that I can't finally break out that garden weasel…" The corners of her mouth twitch as she fights to keep from crying.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Gadget please don't do—"

"I'll stop you right there," She playfully smacks me with a plastic spatula. "Help me with dinner."

%%%%%%%^%%%%%%%

We all eat in relative silence until Archer dares to break it, "Who knew I'd miss Meat's obnoxious chewing so much?"

There's a collective laugh, though it's quiet and hesitant.

"Or Royce's constant paranoia?" Toad adds, cheekily.

Another soft chuckle passes through us, still a little awkward.

"Screw Meat," Gadget said malaciously. "I ordered that garden weasel for nothing now."

This breaks the barrier and sends us all into hysteric laughter. We all share stories about our departed friends, bringing up how Meat never actually called Gadget by her name and how Royce was always finding ways to annoy us.

I look around the table as this all takes place, looking at each individual soldier. Having two deaths in our little 'family' has reminds me how fragile life really is. At any moment in the battle we could lose a friend…a family member…a great team mate…a brother… all in one moment. All of this is so delicate that a single piece of metal flying through the air could send us into a down-ward spiral.

My eyes rest on Gadget. She's laughing along with the others about the story Roach is in the process of telling. Our relationship has changed a lot over the last three years. Since I first kissed her when she stole my mask we shared little moments here and there. That eventually turned into a type of relationship. When I asked Gadget about it, she said she'd consider us an 'item' as long as it didn't make me treat her any different as far as training and missions went.

It didn't and still doesn't. I'm just glad it hasn't changed too much around here.

"Well, I'm heading off to bed." Scarecrow stretched and took his plate to the still soap filled sink. "Anyone wanna walk with me?"

"What are you, 6?" Archer asked. "Sure, ya nancy, I'll walk with you."

"Ay, wait up!" Toad hopped up and followed them out. Worm did so as well, only silently.

This left Roach, Gadget, Mactavish, and myself at the table. Roach looked up at me, still seeming guilty. "This _is _kinda my fault."

"Rubbish," I shake my head. "There was nothing you could've done."

"I should've—"

Gadget interuppts, standing. "No matter what you _**should've**_ done Roach, it won't change what happened." She dumps her plate into the suds. "We all have to understand that. It's an occupational hazard to be at fault sometimes."

This silences the FNG for a moment. Then he nods in agreement, "I guess you're right."

"I think this calls for a toast." Mactavish suggests, grabbing a bottle of stiff whisky and pouring four small half-glassfulls and handing them out. "To Royce and Meat."

"Brothers," I add, lifting my own glass.

"Friends," Roach joins.

I glance at Gadget. The walls are back as she raises her glass. "Great warriors."

We all down the drinks in one go, slamming the glasses onto the counter in perfect unison.

**Wow…**

**Well, that's what you get for now. My brain is dead due to Spanish cramming for the past 2 hours :P**

**Yep, this is the big project!**

**Don't worry, oneshots will come every now and then for a loooooooong time. Plenty of ideas now.**

****SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER** Be ready for a horridly bitter-sweet ending to this one. Don't judge me if not everyone makes it out alive.**SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER****

**Soooooooooooooo, review or no update, it's that simple :D**


	2. Stupid Nightmares Are Nothing To Fear

**{OPEN File 14130-b}**

**[LOADING]**

**[TRANSFERRING Data]**

**[TRANSFER Complete]**

**{RUN PGRM.}**

**[Emily 'Gadget' Robins POV]**

**{RUNNING PROGRAM}**

**(Walls Around Me)**

I roll over again, unable to drift back to sleep. This is stupid. I should be in dreamland right now. But nooooooo, instead I've woken up to another nightmare. That was two whole hours ago. Yet, I still can't bring myself to fall back asleep. My eyes wander to the clock for the thousandth time in twenty minutes.

0423 hours. Too early to be up, though close enough to rise and shine to be considered sane. I try not to think about where I'll be in just a few short hours; on a sub thousands of feet beneath sea level. It's hard to know that two of my family members are gone, let alone that their bodies had to be left behind when they were KIA.

"Screw this," I mutter, shoving myself out of bed and through the door. I just can't sit still anymore, the nightmare still running through my mind.

I'd had the same dream a hundred times over since I'd joined the 141. But this time there was a special addition.

_**I stand next to a very familiar three year old girl as she sits on her bed and stares out her open bedroom door. I hear the same shouts she does, the same desperate arguments, the pleadings of her older brother. I know the same pain she does as she watches them come into view. Her fathers face is red but blank of expression. Her brother's is contorted with pain and desperation. She hides the tears as she watches her brother plead their father to stay. I already know she'll be let down.**_

I duck through the washroom door, checking quickly to make sure nobody's there. Once I'm sure it's deserted I step into a stall, strip off my night clothes, and turn on the cold water, loving the feeling of it on my tight muscles and bruised skin. My mind wanders before bringing the nightmare back up.

_**As I reach out a gentle hand to comfort the small girl she changes into a young soldier with a kind face. The man couldn't have been more than 20, with light brown eyes and a weakly smiling face. He is clutching his wounded side. I hear distant shouting and fighting, but it's like none of it exists. The soldier dies within seconds, eyes still locked with mine. He was the first person I ever saw die. I never knew him.**_

I shut off the water and towel dry myself quickly, still chilly from the cold embrace of the cascading water. I notice that I'm shaking from the recollection and I reprimand myself. "Stop it you nancy. You're acting like a baby."

_**I stumbled through the suddenly silent battle scene, seeing the dead and dying that littered the ground. I shivered and keep on going. There was nothing I could do to save them now. It was hot and I knew I would collapse soon. I kept going…and going…and going…it was like the desert would never end…I was alone…**_

I lace my boots carefully, yanking them slightly harder than I really need to. I sigh, cracking my neck and heading outside. The fog is still low to the Earth and I'm outside before anyone else is. It's cool out and the sun is still low in the sky. The clouds are gray and hide the blue sky from view. This might the last time I see the training grounds.

"That's a scary thought." I point out to myself for no reason. Bored out of my mind and sick of standing still I take off on a light jog. "Just keep moving." I remind myself. "Emotions will keep in check as long as you need them to."

_**Tears streaked down my face as I saw the squad coming to pick me up. The first of them was a very familiar man who'd been my best friend all through the years I spent in the Rangers. He looped my arm across his shoulders and held me up as I began to fall to the ground. As he started to speak a loud whirring came and I was suddenly in a helicopter.**_

_**Then things began to switch so quickly my mind couldn't quite figure it all out.**_

_**Bits and pieces flashed for slightly longer than others. An UMP 45 with a red dot sight being snapped into place. A fly through the air off of a snowmobile. A grinning skull balaclava. My own two hands bound above my head. A nasty scar on my wrist. Gentle hands wrapping gauze around my ankle. A freshly stitched slash on my face.A SAT phone ringing. Loud laughter as I play fought with the guys. Paint-balls splattering against my cover. A carefully decorated Christmas tree. Cupcakes on my birthday. The sight of a bullet taking down one of our own. Shepherd reloading his pistol.**_

_**Then it all slowed down into horribly clear prescision. The faces of the men who tied me to the rafters in Russia laughed at me as I ran down a rocky hill. I kept stumbling past them, trying to get away. I could hear the jeers of men from other squads from when they all doubted me when I was their drill seargent that week. My father's voice as he yelled at my brother. Shepherd's always stoic expression glared down upon me as I ran. He offered no assistance. Each of the men I was running from had a different emotion to them that I couldn't escape.**_

_**Then I could see men at the bottom of the hill cheering me on. They'd wave their arms in the air, whooping, calling out to me. I made my way down as quickly as I could, just dying to reach them. Meat and Royce began to run up towards me, still shouting.**_

_**I couldn't find my voice to call out to them. When they were within arms reach they simply disappeared, turning to dust.**_

I jog a bit faster. I don't want to relive the next part.

Up till Meat and Royce disappearing I had the dream before a thousand times over. Seeing the old events of my life had become a day to day thing that I just had to live with…

Last night, there'd been a change.

_**I tripped and fell, skidding all the way to the bottom of the rocky hill. I landed face down, covered in painful scratches. I stayed still, trying hard to think straight and get my bearings.**_

_**All of the jeering and cheering voices had disappeared. All of the promise of safety I'd been running towards was gone. All that hope had been suddenly torn away.**_

_**Maybe I should've been happy that the danger was gone as well. Maybe I should've been relieved that I was no longer being chased.**_

"_**Get up." A gruff, demanding voice with no sympathy or kindness in the words commanded.**_

_**I didn't move, still lying silently on the ground. They were all…gone…**_

"_**I said, get up Sergeant Robins." The voice remained emotionless.**_

_**I opened my mouth to refuse but could find no words.**_

_**Everything I'd lived for….gone…**_

"_**She's not moving." A thick Russian accent pointed out.**_

_**I heard whoever was up there turn on their heels and say simply and still empty of all feeling, "Finish her."**_

_**There was an explosive gunshot.**_

And then the dream was over. It was just a silly nightmare that I could walk away from. Just a stupid bad dream. Absolutely nothing.

I shrug off the feeling of foreboding as I see Ghost waiting for me as I reach the end of my run. He has his balaclava off but his sunglasses are on, hiding his dim blue eyes.

"Morning love," He hugs me close, knowing that this may be the only time we're alone today. "You're up awful early."

"You're up too," I point out, smiling up at him. I can tell he's beyond tired, "Nightmares again?"

Ghost winces visibly, "Really, they aren't that bad."

"Hmmm…" I murmur, letting him know that I don't buy that load of fertilizer for a second.

"Really."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say Ghostie."

"C'mon, Emily. I'm a big boy now. I'm not afraid anymore."

"Simon," I sigh, exasperated. "Not owning up to your fears doesn't make you anymore of a man."

This hits Ghost. He doesn't usually hear his real name so he gets the message pretty clear. He groans. "Fine; it was pretty bad."

I take his hand and we start walking towards my room. I'm heading off to pack so we can get to the sub ASAP. Ghost is just coming along to keep me company, as he always does.

Ghost plops down on my cot and watches me intently as I pack my bag. Three sets of full fatigues, water and rations for the trip, my bible, a few personal photographs, an extra pair of boots, plenty of socks, and my helmet all go into the back.

"This is where it's all going to change right?" Ghost asks, leaning back on the bedsheets. "None of it's going to be the same…"

"Don't talk like that."

"We're going after Makarov. This is going to be the most dangerous thing we've ever done."

I sit down next to him. A pleading look takes over my face. "Ghost, don't…" I place a hand on his chest, gently trying to beg him not to keep talking.

Ghost props himself up on his elbows and looks at me apologetically. "What if this is it, Gadget? What if we find Makarov?" He's pleading now, "What if one of us doesn't come back?"

I look at him, trying to imagine having to go on without him. Ghost had become a major part of my life, though I wouldn't admit it to anyone, and to imagine living without him was like imagining life without being able to walk.

"We…We should go down to the helo now…" I change the subject awkwardly, zipping up my bag.

I can hear Ghost sigh and slide off my cot, walking up behind me.

"I'm sorry love, I'm just…"

"Scared?"

"Worried was the word I was going to use."

"You sounded scared." I tease.

"Fine. I'm scared. Can you blame me though?"

"No," I shake my head. "Not really."

He cranes his neck and kisses me lightly. "I'm heading down. See you there."

I'm left alone with my bag and my thoughts for a while as I do one last luggage check. Satisfied, I head off towards the helo pad.

I don't look back as I exit the place that has been my home for five years. I don't look out as I climb into the helo and strap in. I don't look down as we take off from the Earth's surface. I don't even think about how I'm leaving my home.

I figure I'll be back once this is all over.

I figure I'll hop off of the helicopter in about a week, ready for some R&R after a long battle with Makarov.

I figure I won't even have time to miss it.

…

I just hope I didn't figure wrong.

**Yayyy! A less crap-chap for you guys, mostly foreshadowing. I promise I'll start moving along with the plot ASAP.**

**I'm not gonna do that thing where people outline all of the missions while throwing in they're own character as some contrast. Imma just do the vital points. I have nothing against people who do that, I just won't be able to pull it off.**

**Please review, my creative mind is fading fast. I need help!**

_**Expect a one-shot before the next chap!**_


	3. Wrong Door, Right Idea

**{OPEN File 14130-c}**

**[LOADING]**

**[TRANFERING Data]**

**[TRANSFER Complete]**

**{RUN PGRM.}**

**[Simon 'Ghost' Riley POV]**

**{RUNNING PROGRAM}**

**(Wrong Door, Right Idea)**

"Breach and clear," Tavish orders, pointing to the last few doors.

I'm not one to complain, obviously, but by now we're all bloody tired. Roach took a couple of hits to the Kevlar and the rest of us are shaken up from fighting through the huge smokescreen. Gadget stepped forward, already holding a breaching charge.

We made it this far onto the oil rig. The Russians had taken the workers hostage and planted explosives all over the place, so we couldn't just completely obliterate the rig. Of course, Shepherd chose US to be the ones to go in on foot.

Sure he sent a few Marines, but that's hardly square.

"You got it." Gadget grins as she slams the charges on the door and steps to the side. I mimic her motions, silently counting down.

Three

I bring my gun up slightly.

Two

I can hear Gadget sliding her knife out of its sheath.

One

Roach gets ready to take point into the building.

GO!

_**BWHAMMM! CHUCKACHUKACHUKACHUKA!**_

The sound is absolutely deafening as the door explodes and scatters chunks of wood and splinters all over the place. I step in and shoot down four men, rarely missing.

Roach empties a full clip into a man who was about to execute one of the hostages and from the other side Mactavish is picking off who he can get to with Worm and Toad's help.

"Clear." I mutter, dragging one of the hostages down onto the floor, to avoid any more shots that could come.

"Let's mov—" Mactavish started, turning his back to leave.

"DON'T!" Gadget yelled, cutting off the captain midstream.

There is a loud clatter as she dives forward (accidentally losing her knife and gun) and tackles one of the Russians who was about to stand up. In moments, she's on top of him, a knee in his chest and a hand on his collar. He draws his handgun and trys to shoot her at point blank range.

All our mouths drop as she violently twists the gun out of his hand, stomps on his ribs, and shoots him twice in the face, all in one fluent motion.

An awestruck silence envelopes our group, Gadget pants heavily still holding the gun to the corpse's head. She glances at me and swallows hard. "Let's go…" The look on her face remains blank as she clambers to her feet and wipes the sweat off of her forehead.

"Right. The Marines will clean up for us. Get to the helo." Mactavish takes point out.

Roach claps Gadget on the shoulder and hands her the knife and gun she dropped in the scuffle. I take the tail out, still in awe at what she'd just done.

None of us had even noticed that the Russian wasn't dead, let alone that he was armed and about to take out our captain. I'll have to ask her about that soon.

We all climbed into the helicopter, listening to the blades of the propeller beat and the radio chatter from the Marines.

"Gadget?" Roach asked hesitantly. "What _**WAS **_that?"

She glances at him for a split second before looking back at the blood on her gloves. "Instinct, kid. It's what happens out…here." She waves her hand in a vague gesture.

"In war?" The FNG asks, curious to learn from all of his superiors. I smile from behind my balaclava. The kid had quickly grown on me and his insistence to learn from Gadget and I only made us more fond of him. Our 'little brother' as we call him.

"Not war…" Gadget looks down at the frothing waves beneath us. "Hate. Fear. Desperation. Blood-shed. Who knows what exactly it is?" She gives him a meaningful look. "All I know is that whatever it is changed all of us and took things away that we can never take back." Then she looks at me. "Maybe it's the un-natural hardships we have to go through on the field or the things we've witnessed that's even more so."

Then she laughs, the emotion still not reaching her eyes.

"Maybe I'm just paranoid enough to glance over my shoulder so constantly that I noticed it."

We all chuckle at her tone, glad to have a moment of rest.

"I wouldn't call it paranoia." Worm points out.

"What _would_ you call it then?"

"I'd say you've just gone insane."

We all burst into uproarious laughter, even Mactavish chuckles at the way he said it with such a serious expression.

"So, off to the Gulag?"

"Off to the Gulag."

********#********#******

I don't know why I ever expect our plans to bloody work! Why do things always get so complicated at the last moment.

This was supposed to be a hit and run operation; get it, grab 627, and get the cuss outta there. Not beat around the bush for a while outside, come right on in, and then beat around the bush some more in the entry halls.

"That's the control room up ahead!I can use it to find the prisoner!" Finally we're getting somewhere. I sit down and grab one of the laptops. "This could take some time."

"That's why Gadget, Jay-hawk, and Toad are gonna stay with you. Gadget, help Ghost tap the systems and the rest of you keep guard. Everyone else, come with me."

"Yes, sir." She nods, leaning over my shoulder. "Try bypassing that first." I type as fast as I can, getting the security cameras on-line.

"All right, I'm patched in." The screen shows all of the cameras in the place. I can see Tavish and Roach quite clearly on the top left ones. "I'm tracking your progress on the security cameras."

"Copy that!" MacTavish responds. "Do you have the location of Prisoner 627?"

Gadget swipes the computer while I talk, getting the searchlights under control.

"Negative, but I've got a searchlight tracking hostiles on your floor. That should make your job easier."

"Roger that! Stay sharp! The prisoner may be in one of these cells!"

I turn to Gadget, "Set up some C4 and be ready to blow it, we may need a fast escape route and nobody we want will be coming up that ramp."

"Got it." She slides the laptop back to me and jogs off towards the ramp the other members of our squad had left down.

I turned my attention to the security system, trying to get the computer to override faster.

"Ghost, we've hit a security door! Get it open!" Mactavish orders over his throat mic.

"Workin' on it…" I growl in frustration. "This hardware is _ancient_!"

Gadget returns, reading over my shoulder again. "That's the wrong door."

"No it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

I hit enter.

"Ghost, you opened the wrong door!" Roach yells, his voice a few octaves high with distress.

Gadget gives me a look and shoves me away from the computer. "Got it!"

The door slids open and Mactavish says, "That's better. Let's go!"

"All yours Ghostie." She teases. "See if you can hack 627, I've got eyes on the spotlights."

I grumble and start sorting through the information available. Death lists…Guard lists…red light warnings…Prisoner Locations. Bingo.

I skimmed the numbers.

"Talk to me, Ghost—these cells are deserted!" The captain yells over the radio.

My eyes lock on 627. "Got it! Prisoner 627's been transferred to the east wing! Head through the armory in the center—that's the fastest way there."

"They'll be like turkeys on thanksgiving in there till you get that door open." Gadget comments from the other side of the room.

"Yeah, but do you have a better idea?" I retort, already working on the next set of doors. Then I spotted bad news.

Apparently Toad saw it too. "Head's up!"

"I see 'em." Then to Mactavish I shout. "Bad news, mate, I'm tracking three…no, four hostile squads converging on your position!" I type faster.

"I'll give them some cover from the cat walk,Toad and Jay-hawk, you stay here and cover Ghost. Lieutenant, you get the right door this time."

"Aye, aye." I mutter crankily as the other two laugh and Gadget slips out again.

I enter the bypass code and the door begins to slide open, announced by a loud ringing and flashing lights. Proud and about to contradict my girlfriend, I lean back a little.

Guess what?

The door jams.

"_Bloody hell_!" I shout angrily, leaning forward again. "They've locked it from the hard-line. I'll have to run a bypass!"

"Make it quick Ghost, it's about to get hot down there." Gadget yells. I can barely hear her over the gunfire.

"Too late! They're already here!" I can faintly hear the firefight and Toad dashes over to the ledge.

"That's a LOT of tangos…"

"Be advised—you've got more tangos headed your way!"I ignore Toad and watch the bypass run, praying to whatever god is out there that the bloody program hurrys the cuss up.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" MacTavish demands loudly over the obvious sound of gunshots.

"Almost there!" I yell back, panic slowly trying to force its way into my mind and cloud my thoughts. "Routing through the auxiliary circuit…"

Gadget stumbles back in, clutching her left side. "Tell them to bypass the lower floors. It's knee deep in Russians down there."

I nod curtly. "You all right, mate?"

"Don't worry about me. It's just a nick. Get on the horn and get them the cuss outta there."

I examine the screen for an escape point. Bingo. "Ghost here. Recommend you bypass the lower floors by rappelling out that window."

"The camera feed in solitary confinement is dead," Gadget reports to Tavish."The power must be down in that section."

Jay-hawk, an antsy soldier from another squad kicks a nearby cardboard box in frustration.

"Roger that! Squad, switch to night vision."

"Careful down there boys, the Navy hasn't pulled out yet." Gadget adds, leaning against the metal wall and squeezing her eyes shut in agony. I knew she'd lied to me about it just being a nick, but I can't leave my work at the moment.

Toad swears loudly and Jayhawk runs his hands through his stark black hair. There was a moment of thick silence as we waited…for a sound…anything.

I watched the blank section of screens, willing them to turn on and show us that our friends were all right.

The whole Gulag shook and Gadget fell to her knees, groaning in pain. Mactavish asked the question we were all wondering. "Shepherd! What the hell was that? Get the Navy to cease fire!"

"The Navy isn't in a talking mood right now," Shepherd says emotionlessly "Standby."

"Standby…of course we'll stand by while our brothers in arms are buried down there."

"Calm down, Gadget."

"Bravo Six—they've agreed to stop firing for now. Keep going, I'll keep you posted. Out."

We all sigh in relief, Gadget straightening up and taking my place at the computer again. She was still keeping pressure on her side.

"There they are." The screens revealed our men on the light side. "The old shower room's about thirty feet ahead on your left. You'll have to breach the wall to get in."

"Roach—plant the breaching charge on the wall, we're taking a shortcut." I could hear the FNG grumble a bit. He never did like the feeling of being so disoriented during a shootout.

All we could do was watch the bombardment.

"I feel useless." Gadget grumbles, gazing at the screen.

"We aren't useless." Toad reassures her. "_And_ you got the right door open."

"Oooooo, what's my prize?" She jokes feebly.

After a few more moments of watching Mactavish, Worm, and Roach duke it out with Russians armed to the teeth they finally dropped out of sight.

"Gadget pull up the scematics of this place. Get ready to map a way to 627 and right back out to exit point Charlie."

"Got it."

"Toad, keep the East entrance under surveillance. Jay-hawk, you get the West."

"Ghost, you still with us?"

"Yes, sir. What's your current position?"

Gadget traces a finger along the route she had planned. I nod. "Okay. Keep going along that tunnel."

"I'm detecting two heat signatures on the other side of that wall—one of them should be Prisoner 627," I report.

"Good job. Get outta here."

"You too, sir. Over and out." I look at my team. "Let's move."

*****#****#******#****

The blood pounds in my ears as we run. Jayhawk is dead. Only Toad and Gadget are left to help me out, and the latter is losing blood. I glance back at her and add to the thought, _FAST_.

"RUN!" I yell, shoving her out of the Gulag before me and detonating the C4. This sets off a chain reaction, setting off several barrel of oil and the claymores I'd hastily set up.

Toad waves to us from the helo that's already started up. "GO GO GO!" He shouts over the mic.

"C'mon love, pick up the pace!" I grab her arm and drag her along as fast as possible. Then I practically toss her into the bird and dive in after her. "GO!"

Seconds after we are out of range the UXO bomb detonates and the entire gulag falls in on itself.

The three of us just lay on the cold metal of the helo's floor, panting loudly and letting the adrenalin die off.

"Well…That was… an adventure." Gadget says, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths.

"Yeah…I guess…I guess so…" I pant in response.

Toad just swears under his breath.

"Tavish?" I say over the mic after I regain my oxygen levels. "Come in Tavish, you all right mate?"

"We've got 627. You aren't gonna believe this one Ghost."

I smile at Gadget even though she can't see it. "Well sir, I already don't."

She beams and laughs at me, removing a very bloody hand from her side.

**WEELLLLLLLLLL,**

**There you go!**

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**All are accepted, read, and appreciated. Anything is welcome and if you send enough I might just have an early release on the next chappie :D**


	4. So Much Sorrow

**{OPEN File 14130-c}**

**[LOADING]**

**[TRANFERING Data]**

**[TRANSFER Complete]**

**{RUN PGRM.}**

**[Emily 'Gadget' Robins POV]**

**{RUNNING PROGRAM}**

**(So Much Sorrow)**

I lean against Ghost weakly, gazing at Worm. He wasn't moving or breathing and I didn't expect him to. The man is dead. Raw emotions sting at my eyes as Toad and Tavish wrap his body in one of our spare blankets. Worm is…was one of my best friends. And now I gaze at his lifeless body.

I remember how he'd always come and talk to me before missions. We'd covered basically every topic known to man—and possibly bear—kind in our conversations. We always talked about life; we'd rant about how it wasn't fair, laugh about how great it was, and let silence take over when it was too confusing for words.

Now he's dead.

"It's so unfair." I whisper for only Ghost's ears.

"None of it ever is."

Ghost and I watch them carry him off. I want to cry. I want to let all of the walls I'd so carefully constructed around my mind to fall away. This kind of thing only seems to make the barriers stronger. He helps me out of the helo, pretending I was still so unstable that I need help walking. I know I'd be just fine on my own two feet and that he knows it too. We just need a moment to be close.

Once we reach the infirmary Ghost lifts me off the floor and onto one of the metal counters, unbuckling my Kevlar. "I'm sorry this happened."

"It isn't your fault." I point out sternly.

"I sent you off alone again."

"Ghost, don't."

"Look at this!" He throws his arms in the air, gesturing at my side. "You're literally a bloody mess!"

"It isn't your fault!" I grab his shoulder and glare at him. "I _chose_ to go out there and I _chose _to stay in the open to long. I _chose _to be here."

He looks at me, almost helplessly. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"That's why I never thought this would work."

Ghost presses his forehead into the crook of my neck, sighing deeply. "I love you. I'm sorry for overreacting."

"I know. I love you, too." We sit in silence. I hold Ghost's hand gently and soon he wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his warm embrace. I could sit here for hours and just let the world pass by.

But then he pulls away and goes about patching me up. The antiseptic stings like a thousand hornets. The process of removing the still present bullet isn't either. I keep quite though, knowing that if I show too much pain Ghost will only feel worse and worse. He always blames himself for this kind of thing.

"Got it." He mutters, finally getting a good hold on the intruding piece of metal and dropping it into a small glass dish on the table. I sigh in relief, already feeling better. "Now we just have to stitch you up."

The sigh forms into an angry groan. I _**hate **_stitches! Stitches mean that Mactavish will want me to avoid busting them, meaning no training, meaning sitting around with nothing to do, meaning I start feeling claustrophobic OUTDOORS.

I voice my lovely opinion. "I cussin' hate stitches."

"I know."

"I hate sitting around waiting to be better."

"I know."

"Tavish is gonna make me sit out the morning schedule tomorrow."

"I know."

"You're not giving me stitches." I slip in, hoping he's not really listening.

"I know that I am definitely stitching this up."

"Curse you."

Ghost laughs and starts gently stitching my side up. I just lie back and wait for him to finish. Being stitched up has never bothered me, at least not the process of it. Just knowing that I was soon to be bored out of my mind pretty soon is always torture enough on its own. With one last gentle tug Ghost ties the final knot. "There. Now don't do anything stupid until those set, if you pop them it'll take longer to heal."

"Yeah, yeah." I nod impatiently. Sitting up and getting the heck outta that infirmary was all I can think about at the moment.

Ghost catches my arm as I start to leave. I look up at him slowly. His balaclava and sunglasses are still firmly in place. All I can see in the smiling skull pattern and a very faint outline of his cloudy blue eyes. "Don't go yet." He pleads softly.

I gaze up at him for a moment longer. I want to stay, but I know it'll just be harder for the both of us next time something like this happens. Wrapping my arms around Ghost's neck I whisper a quick goodbye and slip out of the infirmary.

######*#####*####****

"Go! Go! Go!" Ghost screams over gunshots. I slip up to the next house and hunker down, taking potshots at whoever comes from past the enemy lines.

"There are too many! Get a predator down here Roach!" I shout into my throat mic, already being overrun. Every which way there are Russians hell bent on killing me and my team. One gets close enough for me to see the bright green irises of his eyes before I plant a bullet between his eyes. "NOW, PLEASE!"

"I'm working on it! These things don't grow on trees!" Roach yells back from behind my previous hiding spot. My gun clicks empty and I switch to my Glock, shooting one handed while slamming a new clip into my main gun.

"C'mon Roach!"

"Missile Inbound!"

I throw myself face down in the snow as the Predator hits a few dozen yards away. Mactavish radios in, "Multiple enemy kills, good hit, good hit."

"It's about time!" I snicker and roll onto my stomach, getting some prone kills in while the Russians are still scrambling from the impact of the missile.

"We have to move forward!" Price yells, taking point and running through the open area. "Get going!"

I lay down covering fire, standing but not moving and inch. "I'll cover your advance, don't wait up for me!"

"Right," Price is the only one to respond.

I keep my eyes on them, shooting down anyone and anything that happens to take aim in their direction.

I don't like Price.

Something about the man is off. Ever since he first laid eyes on me it seems like he has this ridiculous need to controdict everything I say. He disagrees with every one of my ideals and most times, even ignores my input. I'm used to the behavior, but the way he does it is with this all-knowing look on his face. Like he knows he's better than me.

"Roach, get some more Predators down here!" Ghost shouts. I'm launched out of my own little world and back into the present.

"I'm on my way, no need to worry." I mutter sarcastically. I'm actually relieved Ghost's mind isn't on my where-abouts and he's keeping his head where it should be. I kind of left him hanging all night last night, keeping my distance to talk to Toad about Worm and Jay-hawk. Maybe it was wrong, but I have all the right intentions.

I sprint from my hiding place, through the deserted area that was a battle field just a few moments ago, around a few bodies, and into the open again. I can see the squad on the ground, tearing through the place like a racoon tears through a wet paper bag. I notice that Rocket and Neon, men loaned to us from another squad as backup, are both gone. I swear lightly, charging down the hill to catch up with everyone else.

"I'm going for the sub! Cover me from that guardhouse by the west gate!"

"Roger that! Roach, let's go!" Ghost pulls the FNG up from the ground where he's been launching the missiles from. "We have to get to that guardhouse by the west gate to cover Price! Follow me!"

I race along beside my team, picking off the Russians. We take over the guard house and I grasp a sniper, and with Archer's help I manage to pick off the better part of a squad.

"All right, I'm inside the sub!" Price yells over the radio, apparently still shooting Russians from inside. "Cover me, I need a few minutes!"

"Contact to the north!" I yell, pointing. "On the dock near the sub."

"Roach, get some fire down there!" Ghost orders, shooting a tango off of the ladder to our safe haven.

That's when Satan decided to bring the rest of hell for a nice visit. Sirens begin to wail and the silo doors on the massive submarine begin to open. "Price, are you there? The silo doors are opening on the sub, I repeat, the silo doors are opening on the sub!" Ghost's voice suddenly becomes desperate.

"Keep firing!" I order everyone else, trying to keep some form of control over the team.

"Price, come in! They're opening the silo doors on the sub! Hurry!"

I realize what may happen if that sub gets away. Panic seeps into my bloodstream. I look at Ghost worriedly before tapping my own radio. "PRICE, DO YOU COPY? THE SILO DOORS ARE OPEN! I REPEAT! THE SILO DOORS ARE OPEN!"

Price's voice comes in a soft whisper…almost a purr. "Good."

My eyes widen as a plume of smoke and ash shoots into the air, a huge nuke the head of the snake like tendril.

"NO! Wait, _wait_! _WAIT! PRICE! NO!_" I scream. I can hear the hysteria in my voice as I run to the railing of the guardhouse, eyes locked on the nuclear missile. "NO!" My voice sounds far off and alien, too loud and a few octaves too high for it to belong to me. I'm shaking with desperation as the missile disappears in the clouds.

"We have a nuclear missile launch! Missile in the air! Missile in the air!" Ghost screams into his main radio behind me. "CODE BLACK! CODE BLACK! Someone stop that thing!"

My eyes start to sting painfully as the smoke disapates and our horrified screams stop. My squad's eyes fall on me. All of the men around me aren't American born citizens. Ghost and Roach are British. Toad is too. Archer is Canadian and Scarecrow is from Aussie. I'm the only one watching a nuke fly towards my home.

Then I remember Alex.

"Oh God…" Alex is still in New York. Still right near the point of detonation Price wanted to use when he spoke to Shepherd about this. "Oh god…" He's going to get hit by a nuke any moment now. "Oh God…" I lean heavily against the railing, feeling sick. The radio buzzes and someone at communications tells us that pickup would be there in 15 minutes. Price comes trotting down the pavement towards our position. Mactavish mutters something over the still stat-icky connection.

My stomach heaves painfully and I want to vomit. Alex, the only constant comfort I ever had in my entire life, is about to get obliterated by a nuclear missile that one of my own captains shot…on a mission I was on.

"Gadget…?" I ignore whoever just said my name and bury my face in my still shaking hands.

I hear someone climbing the metal ladder. Not needing to look up to know it was Price, I run my hands through my matted brown hair and try to think. What was the last thing I said to Alex? Was it one of those quick goodbyes that have to suffice when I'm in a rush? Was it a nice long conversation about our lives? Was it an 'I love you'?

"C'mon love." Warm hands close around my shoulders. I shrug them away. I don't want to talk or look at anyone or go anywhere. I just need to let this sink in.

"Straighten up soldier." Price's voice orders stiffly. "We've got to get to the LZ before our fly-boys do."

I slowly let my hands fall away from my head. Step by step I follow everyone else. They all point their guns every which way while I just let mine hang by my side. '_Stop it._' I tell myself. '_Let go. He doesn't want you to get shot out here._'

I stagger into the helo fifteen minutes later and collapse in on of the benches. I still refuse to cry. Ghost sits down on my right, letting me lean against him. I still haven't spoken but he seems to understand what I'm going through. "Just take your time, love." He whispers, low enough for only me to hear. "We'll be back at the base soon."

I just nod, still remaining emotionless.

Everything's cold. The lights are too bright. The world is moving too slow to make sense. Price keeps looking at me like I'm going to go off like a 20 pound block of C4. He can give me that look all week; I'm not telling him what's wrong.

When the helicopter lands Roach finally decides to say what everyone's thinking. "Sorry sir, but what the hell was that?"

"An EMP, Seargent." Price smirks, "An EMP that just saved all of America."

#####*#*#*#**#****#####***#

_**Beep Beep Beep…Beep Beep Beep…Beep beep beep Beep.**_

I sit back and wait for the phone to connect. I pray that Alex was indeed at his in-laws house instead of New York. "H-hello?"

"Lily?"

"Yes, this is Lily. Who is this?"

Oh god…She's crying. I pray it's only because she heard about the nuke, not because Alex was out there. "It's Emily."

"Emily! It's so good to hear from you."

"It's nice to hear from you too Lily. I-is Alex there with you? I can't get through on his cell."

"…Oh sweetie, Alex was in New York."

I hang up the phone without saying goodbye, a twinge of guilt playing in my subconscious for being so rude. Ghost, who has been sitting with me, wraps me in a tight hug of comfort.

**{Transmission LOST}**

**[STANDBY]**

**(RUN: BYPASS 403)**

**{BYPASS TERMINATED}**

**(RUN: PGRM. TROJAN45768)**

**{PGRM. TROJAN45768 TERMINATED}**

**[STANDBY]**

**{Searching Cpt. John Mactavish}**

**[SOURCE UNKNOWN]**

**{Searching Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley}**

**[SOURCE UNKNOWN]**

**[WARNING: Search Programming ERROR]**

**{ERROR CODE 5938203}**

**[STANDBY]**

…**Yeah kinda depressing. Don't worry, I won't be like this for too long, just wait till next chapter :D**

**I demand reviews. No reviews. No updates.**


	5. Promises, promises

**{OPEN File 14130-d}**

**[LOADING]**

**[TRANFERING Data]**

**[TRANSFER Complete]**

**{RUN PGRM.}**

**[Simon 'Ghost' Riley's POV]**

**{RUNNING PROGRAM}**

**(Promises, Promises)**

"But you understand what she must be going through," I lean against the card table in the rec room. "He was the only constant she'd ever had in life."

"And now she'll have time to move past that," Price murmers.

My temper flares a bit but I cover up with a stoic shrug. "I agree with your descision, don't get me wrong. It's about how you don't even seem to care that her brother is dead and that you've violated all our trust."

The new captain eyes me dangerously. "Either your trust and her brother or the entire country. Millions of lives, families, and the whole country would've been destroyed."

I hold my hands up in agreement. "I level with you."

The door swung open and Gadget walks in. She looks so broken, so distraught. I hurry over to her, not caring that Price was there, and look her in the eyes. "I'm so sorry, Emily." I whisper.

Shepherd's been questioning us. Apparently we're all under suspicion of treason. Being a native born American, she's been under the most heat. I can't imagine how horrible it must be to be interogatted by the head of the entire 141 right after watching a nuke take off to destroy your last surviving family because you were under suspicion for helping the launch effort.

Strength behind Gadget's eyes surprises me as she offers a weak smile. "The nuke saved everyone. It's going to be all right."

I start to reach out to take her hand in mine, but let it fall to my side as Price comes up. "What is all this about anyways?" Price demands irrateably. "You're supposed to be a soldier, not a sniveling little girl."

Just as I open my mouth to defend her, Gadget glares at Price and says, "Shut. Up."

He just rolls his eyes and makes his way by me and towards the door.

Little does he know that Gadget isn't letting him get off that easy. She grabs his arm roughly and stares him down, eye-to-eye. "I'm sick of hearing it from you. It was just conflicting viewpoints before. Now…" She pauses. "Now it's beyond that. You've crossed a line here Price. The one-four-one is maybe the last place on earth that I can really do anything to help anyone. Here…here we trust eachother." She gestures to me with her free hand. "These men have broken the rules to save my neck and vice-versa. I would've joined you in a hearbeat if you'd just gotten your mind out of the Gulag long enough to realize that Soap would do the same. And Roach would if you'd told him. Scarecrow would've come on board with everyone else following." Her glare hardens, "If you would've just realized that we aren't robotic soldiers who would squeal on you and your little plan in a second, then maybe it wouldn't be this way."

Gadget releases his arm roughly.

"We aren't stupid, sir." She straightens up, almost at attention. "We know our orders aren't everything."

Price, seeming to be at a loss for words, salutes her and heads out the door.

The moment the door closes behind him I sweep Gadget into a bear hug, burying my face in her soft brown locks. "Thank god you haven't gone bloody mad."

"I nearly did with Shepherd preaching my ears off about duty and honor and justice and his 30,000 dead soldiers and the history of man-kind." She muffles into my chest.

"Didn't leave anything out did he?"

"Just the entire history of all bear-kind."

I chuckle, kissing her hair. It seems like it's been too long since I've been able to hold her like this. Just being close to her makes me feel a little better. Sanity always seems closer when she's in my arms. Call it a cliché or whatever you bloody feel like. Five years is enough time to build up that much love for someone.

I pull back a bit before giving her a gentle kiss. "I'm sorry about Alex. He was a good man."

She beams, not showing too much sadness. "I'll never forget the time you came with me to see him for chistmas."

"You don't need to remind me." I laugh, "That's not something I'll easily forget." I give her another slightly less gentle kiss and hug her tighter for another moment. "I love you."

I can see her blushing lightly. Chuckling, I release her. As I turn to leave she clutches my hand, "I love you too."

######*#####*####****

"Nice to see you in one piece, Sergeant," Shepherd says as Gadget and I enter the briefing room together. There's indifference evident in his voice, but I think nothing of it. "I knew Alex and it's a shame he went down like that."

"Thank you, sir." Gadget salutes him before taking her seat to the left of Mactavish. I sit across from then, looking around at those who are here. Roach is slouching slightly at the end of the table, Price sitting next to him and Shepherd at the head. I sit squarely between the two highest ranking men on the squad.

"These are the last two safe havens Makarov has." Yadda yada yada. Shepherd's speech goes on for a while.

"Sounds like we have to be in two places at once." Price mutters.

"Impossible?"

"Not for the one-four-one."

"Two locations," I lean back in my chair, "Fifty-fifty chance of taking out Makarov, eh?"

There's a pause as everyone thinks this over. Gadget leans forward and examines the maps on screen.

"Sir, permission to take the safehouse with Roach and Gadget," I request, smirking as Gadget looks up surprised that I would request taking her with us.

"Granted. Price and I will go to the bone-yard."

"Good luck gentlemen," Shepherd stands. "I'll rally up some support. Meanwhile, I suggest you rest for a while before packing up. This one will write history."

I hold back a laugh as Gadget rolls her eyes. We were left alone in the briefing room to plan out our attack after everyone cleared out. "Notice how he didn't refer to me once?"

"You're just imagining things."

"Something's up Ghost."

"You're paranoid."

"We got that intel without issue."

"I know."

"It doesn't make sense. Our intel is ALWAYS wrong."

"I know."

"Please Ghost," She begs, looking helpless. "I'm…I'm scared."

I pull her out of her own seat and onto my lap, hugging her tiny frame close to my body. I let her rest her head in the crook of my neck as I gently hushed her. "It'll be fine love," I coo, running my hand through her hair. "You'll see. It's just another mission. It'll be difficult but I won't lose you. We'll both be okay." I was promising her these things that I was so unsure of. I could be so wrong. I could be just trying to say these things to comfort myself.

"Promise me that you won't risk yourself for me."

My body goes rigid, snapping me into as stiff position. "Oh Emily, please don't…"

"Simon," She whispers, like she's terrified someone will hear.

"Please," I plead. "Please don't think like that love. We'll both be-" My voice catches in my throat. "We'll both be okay."

Tears are clouding her eyes but she seems to refuse to let them fall. "Promise me you won't endanger yourself for my sake."

"I-"

"Please, Simon." Her voice cracks in desperation. "I won't know what to do if you put me in that position. Do you know how much guilt I'll have on my shoulders."

"Emily-" I murmer, burying my face in her shoulder.

"Please?"

"All…" I choke back another argument. "Okay. I promise."

Her body seems to relax and her arms wrap around my neck. "I love you."

"I love you too." I brush her hair out of her face, "We should get back to planning."

**[TRANFERING Data]**

**[TRANSFER Complete]**

**{RUN PGRM.}**

**[Emily 'Gadget' Robins's POV]**

"Pull yourself together Sergeant. You've got a country to serve." Shepherd finishes.

I don't look up at him or say anything at all. I'm too tired and upset to. It's barely been two hours since we failed and my brother died, now I'm in suspicion of being in cahoots with Price on the whole nuking America thing. Apparently my near hysteric response to it wasn't any proof of my innocence. I've been sitting here for a good half hour, listening to the general rant on and on about god knows what.

I examine my hands in silence, taking a mental photo of each and every scar and scratch and mark on the palms and fingers. I try to count them as Shepherd drones on but that gets boring.

Finally the speech ends. "You're a part of history Robins. You could make or break it." At this I look up, putting on a mask of acceptance and honor and interest and all that jazz. Shepherd buys it and nods, turning to leave. "Your CO will debrief you and then you can be on your way."

"Yes, sir," I mutter with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

Mactavish enters the room not even a minute after Shepherd leaves. "You've been in here for over half an hour."

Giving up, I rest my head on the metal desk in front of me. "Don't even remind me."

There's an awkward pause as Mactavish stands at the doorframe and I just stare blankly at the table. "I'm sorry for your loss Emily." I lift my head abruptly, surprised by the gentle tone of his voice. I hold his icy-blue gaze for a moment. "You just watched one of your own COs launch a nuclear missile at your home and family. I…" He pauses, searching for words. "I understand if you need leave. It's SOP for a soldier to-"

"When have _**I **_followed standard operating procedure?"

A rare smile graces the Captain's rugged features. "That's the spirit."

"Standard Operating Almost Procedure is closer to what we do around here, right?"

"That's where I got the name."

"I figured…"

"Ghost told you."

"Yep." I smile falsley, knowing that it's a wasted, desperate effort.

Mactavish claps me on the shoulder. "I know I've never told you this Gadget, but I was assigned to choose the recruit when you were in the sign-ups for the 141." He sits down next to me, a serious expression replacing the smile. "You were among 50 skilled and massive men, all trained and willing to take the risks. All of my options were capable of doing your job. All of them were coming from far more expirienced backrounds." He pauses. "Choosing you was the biggest risk I took in any descision I had made in my career as captain."

I study his eyes intently. "Then why pick me?" I'm surprised at the pleading tone my voice comes out in. "Why risk your credibility?"

He smiles knowingly, "Because I knew you were so much stronger than them. I came out to see you and 19 other promising talents at the training grounds. I watched from the shadows while you all ran course after course. You stood out."

"Why? I remember the day they gathered us, all those men kicked my butt."

"But you kept going. You stood out particularly well on the Obstacles Course the one with the waterfalls."

I smile a bit, remembering the brutal cascades, crashing down on my already exhausted form, the rampant pounding never seeming to let up or halt for even a second. "I remember, sir."

"Do you remember how you stood directly beneath the flow to help that one private up? The one who'd fallen halfway through," Mactavish half nods, "You'd been at the very end of the course, but you'd turned around to pull him to his feet and get him to the end of that course."

"That was Private Kelly. He was so much stronger than I was."

"But only in the physical sense." A heavy hand rests on my shoulder. "I picked you because you were stronger emotionally and mentally."

"I failed that course though."

"We all fail courses. But you're still alive." A teasing grin illuminates his face. "And judging by the way the men have taken a liking to you I'd guess that I'm not the only one who's glad you made it in."

I smile, remembering how they'd all been very wary of me at first. "Thanks 'Tavish. You know…not to be sappy, but you're like the dad I never had."

Mactavish returns the smile, "It's an honor, Gadget. Get moving. We've all had a long day."

_**And thus follows the episode with Price and yadda yadda yada…**_

I roll my eyes once Shepherd turns his back. Ghost coughs, covering up a bout of laughter. We were left alone in the briefing room to plan out our attack after everyone else cleared out. "Notice how he didn't refer to me once?" I ask, frowning.

"You're just imagining things."

I chew my lower lip, trying to ward off the aching feeling of foreboding. "Something's up Ghost."

"You're paranoid." He assures me, pulling a map up on screen.

"We got that intel without issue." I point out, trying to make him see this issue my way.

"I know."

"It doesn't make sense. Our intel is ALWAYS wrong." I remind him.

He doesn't seem to reach "I know."

"Please Ghost, I'm…I'm scared." In a state of fear and weakness I lower a wall, trying to feel something again.

He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap. I bury my face in his chest, listening to the even beating of his heart that's been my lulliby. "It'll be fine love,"He runs a bare hand through my hair. "You'll see. It's just another mission. It'll be difficult but I won't lose you. We'll both be okay." I wasn't convinsced

"Promise me that you won't risk yourself for me." I murmmer softly.

His body stiffens, taken back by my request. "Oh Emily, please don't…"

"Simon…"

"Please," Desperation seeps into his usually even voice. "Please don't think like that love. We'll both be-" His voice cracks with strain. "We'll both be okay."

"Promise me you won't endanger yourself for my sake."

"I-"

"Please, Simon. I won't know what to do if you put me in that position. Do you know how much guilt I'll have on my shoulders?" I interrupt.

"Emily-" He begs, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"Please?"

"All…" He starts to argue again. "Okay. I promise."

"I love you." I relax, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"I love you too." I brush her hair out of her face, "We should get back to planning."

######*#####*####*

"Sniper team ready," Archer assures us.

"Copy that." Toad murmers, peeking momentarily through his scope.

Clapping them both on the shoulder, I mutter softly into the mic. "Right, let's go."

Ghost and the others follow me closely, checking the tall grass quickly and silently. Each step heightens the suspense we're all feeling and I know that much more waiting and I'll go mad. I glance over my shoulder to see Roach looking straight ahead and walking forward slowly. '_What is he—? '_

_**CLICK.**_

'_I __**love**__ my job.' _

**DAH DAH DAH DAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! :D**

**Yayy, I'm just chuggin' right along here.**

"**But Emily, aren't you almost to the end?" NOPEEEEE :D!**

**That's the BEST part. I've barely even started. This story will end at my planned end for MW3! HAHAHAHAHAHA! I will resolve EVERYTHING in a magical little 30+ chap project. Take**_** THAT**_** nature.**

**So, review, or thou shalt never know what becomes of the 141. ^.^**

**Also, go read my other oneshots and '**_**Understanding EmotionsA Hunter's Guide to Survive' **_**If you like Left 4 Dead.**

**ALSO!: These characters are meant to be slightly OOC. There will be changes in behavior or origin of the me. **

**Also read;**

**The Ghost that Haunted me by ecto1B**

**And**

**Concentration by Walker in the Rain**

**I don't have much else for ya, because my reading time is seriously lacking.**

**REVIEW or **_**no **_**UPDATE!**


	6. Just Another Fight

**(Just Another Fight)**

_**CLICK.**_

'_I __**love**__ my job.' _I think sarcastically, already knowing what the click was.

Dozens of landmines burst forth from the oozing mud, singing death and scattering deadly debris. I'm just lucky enough to get into a crouch before they go off. The sheer force of the explosions sends me flying backwards. I land on my butt, sustaining no real damage from the mines other than disorientation. Or so I think. My mind whirls out of control, body acting on instinct and desperation alone, everything appears fuzzy and far away. I fire my gun at what few visible tangos there are. "AMBUSH!" I yell without even processing the word. Ghost charges past me, tearing through what targets there were on the ground.

He glances around for a moment then points at the ridge. "TARGETS! LEFT SIDE! LEFT SIDE!"

I spot Roach in prone position, shaking his head and disoriented. "ON YOUR FEET!" I bellow at him, yanking the back of his Kevlar to get him into a standing position. "Get your sights on the left side. NOW!"

A curt nod is all he offers, already too deep in military mode to tease my commanding tone. He brushes by me.

Then I get to work, taking my shots carefully. "They've got this area presighted for mortar fire!" Scarecrow shouts from the other side of the battle ground. I look up to see a mortar falling towards Ozone's position. Again my body moves without thought or effort. I sprint forward and drag him along behind me.

"Gadget, what the hell are you—"

Dirt flys up from behind us and knocks us to our knees. "Keep your eyes open." I mutter, scrambling to my feet and firing at the oncoming tangos.

There was a loud hissing sound and a massive smoke-screen rose out of the trees and ferns. I swear, pulling up to where Scarecrow was making a valiant effort to stand against the Russian forces. "Need a hand?" I ask, popping in a flash bang and taking off the heads of the dizzied tangos.

"Thanks," Scarecrow shoves by me and takes one shot. I can hear a gurgling scream. "But you missed one."

"Ha-ha." I mutter sarcastically, dashing away from him.

"Counterattack into the smoke!" I can hear Ghost, but I don't bother looking for him. "PUSH, PUSH, PUSH!" Through the haze Scarecrow and I could just barely see another group of Russians.

"I can't see anything!" Ozone complains from my right.

"Shut it." I bark. "Keep moving. You'll be able to hear them."

The men fall silent and I take point. Sure enough, I could hear each enemy a moment before they came into view. I switch to my G18; wanting to save every bullet I could in my SCAR-H. A much more difficult battle is ahead…

I can feel it.

"Keep moving." I murmur into my mic, slipping off to the very edge of the rock wall. I can see a mass mob of the Russians. They're all cozied up behind some large boulders. Perfect.

I pull out my SCAR and load a grenade. _This is gonna be some __**real**__ fun right here._ I chuckle at the ridiculous thought and launch the grenade.

It goes off, scattering the enemies and killing off nearly half of them. "Nice work, Gadget." Ghost complements with nearly no emotion.

I slip forward, picking of the last few tangos. The rest of the men catch up and we head up towards the house.

"Get ready." Ozone murmers.

"Top floor clear!" I shout as Roach reaches the bottom of the main staircase.

"Roger that, top floor clear!"Ghost confirms. "Roach, go with Scarecrow and check the basement for enemy activity. Breach and clear."

The two move down the stairs. I keep my eyes on the door, examining a body close to it. I've got to have the worst luck in the world. The very moment I burst through the door Mr. Tango decides to take a stand.

I had to go hand to hand while Ghost took care of the other men. I've still got the man's blood on me.

Scarecrow and Roach return from the basement only minutes later. "Basement clear!"

"Copy, basement clear." I confirm.

Our CO for the trip nods. "All clear. Squad, regroup on me."

We gather in the front room. Ozone and I exchange silent nods and Roach flashes me a smile. I give him thumbs up in return. Ghost frowns a bit. "You're bleeding."

I reach up and touch the cut on my forehead, my glove getting covered in the sticky red liquid. "It's nothing." My arm drops. "Just from the mortars."

He doesn't respond or give any physical signs of displeasure, but I know what he's thinking. And he worries too much.

"Scarecrow, photographs."

"Got it." He nods, whipping out a digital camera. I follow him, taking note of the things he took pictures of.

"You ever heard of personal space?"

"Sorry, just watching the photographic genius." I chuckle, taking a step back.

"Shepherd, this is Ghost. No sign of Makarov, I repeat, no sign of Makarov."

I barely pay attention as the others get ready for another bout of fighting. I look up at Archer and Toad's hide, spotting them immeadiately. They'd need to move pretty quickly. There'd be some heavy fire on their hide in a heart-beat.

"Captain Price, any luck in Afghanistan?"

"Plenty…At least fifty hired guns here, but no sign of Makarov. Perhaps our intel was off."

I key in, "No kidding?"

"Well the quality of the intel's about to change. This safehouse is a bloody gold mine." Ghost hides a chuckle as he speaks. I'm about to add another witty remark, but Shepherd interupts.

"Copy that. Ghost, have your team collect everything you can for an operations playbook. Names, contacts, places, everything." There's a pause. "And no 'slip ups' this time."

"We're already on it, sir. Makarov will have nowhere to run."

"That's the idea. I'm bringing up the extraction force. E.T.A. five minutes. Get that Intel. Shepherd out."

There's a clicking sound and I whip around to see Scarecrow lowering the camera.

"Don't you take pictures of me!" I z-snap him.

He just laughs and snaps another one of me and Ghost. "Uh huh. Well, Ghost said that I'm in charge of photographs. I'll let my photographic genius take care of chosing what I want to take a picture of."

I chuckle and shake my head. Even before we dive headfirst into hell, we manage to get a few more laughs.

"Roach, get on Makarov's computer and start the transfer. Ozone, you're on rear security. I've got the front. Bishop, Grizzly, you're with me. Harley, go with Ozone. Reaper will stay here with Scarecrow and Gadget. Now let's move!"

While everyone else moves away quickly Ghost lags back. "I love you." He whispers, hugging me close. Stay alive, that's an order."

Nobody's watching…

"Keep your promise." I murmer back pulling his mask up half-way and kissing him deeply before yanking it back into place. "Or I'll find a new use for that garden weasel."

Ghost touches my shoulder before slipping out towards the front door. I take a moment to examine the living space; photographs of the Terminal in Russia hang on the walls, blueprints of each route they took that fateful day, the name of one CIA operative is scrawled messily on a sticky note. I pluck it from the table and read… 'CIA Operative Joseph Allen.'

"Task Force, this is Price."Price clicks in, "More of Makarov's men just showed up at the Boneyard… Soap, cover me. I'm gonna slot that guy over there and use his radio to listen to their comms. Ghost, we're going silent for a few minutes. Good luck up there in Russia. Price out."

I swallow back a goodbye to 'Tavish and go about my duties, almost immeadiately forgetting about the sticky note.

"Makarov's men are going to do whatever it takes to keep us from leaving with this Intel." Pep talk time, I smirk and look up to see Ghost peeking in at me. "We need to protect the DSM until the transfer's done. Use the weapons caches and set up your claymores if you've got any left."

I watch Roach hook up the DSM and set up a bunch of claymores. I feel a sudden wash of anxiety. Something's off…this isn't right…

"Defensive positions! Let's go!"

_Easy now Gadget. This is just another battle. Just another fight, like you told Ghost the other day._

"Enemy fast-attack choppers comin' in from the northwest." Archer clicks in. I nod in Roach and Scarecrow's direction and they mimic the action.

My hands shake with nerves as I lock and load. "Roger that. Enemy helos approaching from the northwest."

_Easy…Easy… Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Load up and shoot. _"I'll cover you two from the stairs. Do NOT leave that DSM un-guarded."

"I'll get to the kitchen." Roach nods. "Scarecrow can stay with the DSM."

"Right."

"Get ready boys, this is gonna get rough." My voice is so much stronger than I feel right now.

"RPG team approaching from the west!" Archer calls in.

"Solid copy! RPG team approaching from the west!" I confirm, dashing up the stairs and crouching at the top of the stairs.

_Just one last fight before it's all finally—_

"FLASHBANG!" Scarecrow shouts. I squeeze my eyes shut but apparently he didn't. "AUGHH!"

"I gotcha covered straw-boy. Roach, hold out in the kitchen and skewer anyone who comes in through there."

"Copy that."

I pick off six tangos before they can even come in. Scarecrow recovers from the disorienting flash and joins in the party from the first floor. This seems so easy.

"I'm gonna get some claymores out front!" Ozone shouts, sprinting outside.

I curse and snap a new clip in before cooking a frag. "FRAG OUT!" I shout to Scarecrow before hurling the grenade down the stairs. It takes out four tangos, but six more rush in to take their place.

Four minutes of heated battle later, "Ughhh… I'm hit."

"Ozone's out…" Toad's voice is choked up.

"KEEP FIRING!" I order. Keeping my sights on the Russians I steady my breath, stumbling down the stairs. "DO NOT LET THEM GET TO THAT DSM!"

_Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. _

_Slow is smooth, smooth is fast._

My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe. The numbers on the screen spell out bad news, and the look on Scarecrow's face screams worse. He's been hit.

I kneel next to him after finishing off two last tangos. "C'mon soldier, stay with me."

"G-Gadget?" He whispers. "I…I'm sorry I didn't see the end…"

"Shut the cuss up." I growl, ignoring the red spreading across his kevlar. He smiles one last time, his eyes becoming ever-distant. He reaches up and presses a G18 clip into my hands.

"Lemme know when it's over…" He whispers, becoming still. I sigh and pull him up against the wall.

"I won't ruin the end for ya, but I promise it's a good one." Empty eyes stare past me.

"GADGET, I NEED SUPPORT UP HERE!" Archer screams.

I look away from the corpse of one of my best men and motion to Roach. "Stay. Here. I'll be back." I clicked into Ghost's stream. "Ghost, I'm moving up to Archer's position. Get Grizzly to help Roach in the estate."

"Copy that."

"You'll be without snipers for 30 seconds."

"That's all right, just move… HARLEY, GET DOWN!"

My legs nearly give out as I scramble up the steep cliffside to Archer's hide. Lungs of lead and muscles filled with ceramic shards aren't really the best thing for climbing, whether they're a metaphor or not. The greeting I receive is beyond horrifying and a scream tries to fight its way out of my throat.

Toad, or who I'm assuming to be Toad, is slumped over a large boulder, the bottom half of his jaw blown clean off. Blood flows freely from his torn flesh, making him seem animate even in death. His hands are still clinging to an empty sniper and his bush camo is soaked in mud, sweat, and his own blood. To call a scene like that tramatizing is like saying it was warm in Rio with all that SOP gear on. Archer is clinging to his collarbone, taking in air in short shallow breaths.

"Gadge…" I rush over to him, touching his forehead. His skin is clammy and moist with sweat.

"Cuss Archer…" The words feel bitter in my throat. Archer has been the best friend I ever had…and now…

"I never knew there was so much blood in people."

"Yeah," I play along, loading my sniper.

"There's so much blood."

"I know."

"I never knew how there was all that…all that blood."

"I didn't either."

"There's a lot of blood in me too…was…"

"Shut up. You're fine."

He pauses, catching his breath. "Gadge?" He whimpers childishly. I feel sick. Like the world is ending. Our numbers are dwindiling so fast that the chances of making it are now in the single digits. "Did…Did I do well?"

"The best Archer. The best sniper I've ever seen."

He nods slowly. "I'll miss those little Tikrit kids…nice kids…"

"Get some rest Archer." My voice is commanding. He grins goofily at me before closing his eyes. His breath continues…barely. "Archer's down. Toad's been out for a while."

Ghost swears over the radio. "We lost Harley and Bishop too." I bury my face in my hands.

"Sweet baby Jesus."

"We can still do it!" Roach yells and I can hear the gunshots over his headset. "Just keep going."

"Right. Keep firing you four, I'll cover from up here."

I take careful aim from my hide, letting the world melt away. Each shot kills, each kill helps. My movements are slow and smooth. The enemy falls quickly.

"Reaper's out for the count!" Grizzly's voice is high with fear and despair.

"Steady." The sound of my calm voice startles me. The Russians have tracked my position and are closing in. "I'm displacing. 30 seconds on your own."

"NO!" Gizzly begs. "Don't stop!"

"It's either that or you three will be on your own PERMANENTLY. Keep firing and I'll be right back."

"You got it, Gadget." Roach answers for the rest. "Stay frosty."

I stand to head out, packing up my ammo bag and straightening up.

_**SPUKK!**_

And then I fall.

**MMMMMHHHHHMmmmmmmmmmm. Part one of Loose Ends complete ^.^**

**You're welcome.**

**I was surprised by some of the reviews I got. So many different opinions on who is gonna live and who will die. Some of you are so sure that Ghost makes it while the others are positive I'll rip him off of the face of the earth as well. I'm relieved you guys are thinking in two different directions, I must be more unpredictable than I thought =]**

**Review and I miiiiiiiiiiiiight update.**

**Maybe :D**


	7. The Death of Me Will Be This Empty Gun

**[The Death of Me Will Be This Empty Gun]**

Red blurs my vision and pain weighs my legs down. I slump against the cliff side. Breathing is nearly impossible for a few moments before the adrenaline from getting shot wears down. I reach for my radio, hands closing around broken plastic and split wires. "Oh god…" I can hear the battle still. Gunshots and explosions and yells echo up to me. It all seems so far away. My breathing slows to a natural pace as I lean against the rocky earth. "Oh god…" My radio is out so I would be on a KIA list right now. I search for the energy to stand, but find movement impossible without incredible pain.

Ghost and Roach need me. They're down there with only Grizzly as help and no sniper support. How can I tell them I'm okay? "Toad's radio," I mutter to myself. Lifting my head away from the dirt and looking to the horrific scene of Toad's body. The blood on him still runs thickly, staining the unforgiving sand a darker shade. His backup radio is strapped to his side and is still buzzing with chatter. I can use it to tell them I'm still up here and fighting.

Hands scrabbling at the loose rocks and mud of the hide, I manage to slowly drag myself to the corpse of one of my best friends. "Sorry Toad…Don't haunt me for this one." I rip the Velcro off and click the radio on.

"Ghost? Roach? Can anyone hear me?"

"Gadget!" Ghost's voice is full of relief. "Where are you? You're radio shut off."

"I'm using Toad's backup. He and Archer are…KIA." I groan in pain as I move my right arm a little. "I'm bleeding out..." I glance down at my arm and add, "fast."

"Grizzly, you cover Roach. Gadget I'm on my way to pick you up—"

"NO." I say sternly. "You keep your promise Ghost and I'll see what I can do about mine, but if you die I'll kill you."

"But—"

"Do not come back for me. Repeat, do not come back."

"Gadget," Roach joins. "The DSM has only a few minutes left. Hold out 'til then."

"I'll try, bug. I'll get some sniper support laid out for you guys, you focus on getting out. I'm probably already on the KIA's."

I drop the radio and lift my 50 cal. to my shoulder. My arm screeches in pain and blood flows out of the wound. The burning feeling threatens to pry away the last of my resolve. I line up the cross-hairs and fire. Another man dies at my hands. And another. And another. And another.

My eyes go blurry and I take a moment to catch my breath. Then, again, my sniper sings death to any tango who dares to move in the direction of the house. Another shot, another death.

"Roach, the transfer's complete! I'll cover the main approach while you get the DSM!"

A smile of victory has just made its way onto my mouth when a shout in Russian sounds from behind me. I whip around just in time for the tango to launch at me, knocking my sniper down the rocky edge.

I'm pinned beneath the man, my guns out of my reach and already losing blood far too quickly. I'm about to die at the hands of the enemy. He pistol-whips me roughly. A bruise forms on my cheek and the force of the blow sends stars through reality.

In a last ditch effort I punch him as hard as I can, kicking and yelling obscenities. He loses grip of the gun but brings a fist against my already bruised cheek.

This is what I'd always seceretly feared but I'd assured Alex it never would happen.

It is what I'd always told Ghost I would be too strong for.

It is what I've always known deep inside myself that it would happen eventually.

I want to squeeze my eyes shut and let it happen without thinking about it.

I want to cry and beg for mercy.

I want to just take it and go, just to be done with all the fighting and the hate.

I want to be strong enough to feel no fear.

I want to be un-afraid like I'd always been so careful to pretend.

But I'm not going to… Not this time…

I hear the knife slide out of its sheath. I can smell the dark red blood as it pulses out of me, I can taste it in my mouth. I can see the emotionlessness in my killer's eyes. I can practically feel the man's victorious pride as he readies for another kill. Another death. This time, it's different. This time, that death is mine.

There's hesitation as he raised the razor sharp knife and stared into my eyes. I can only imagine how scared I must look. Death is knocking one last time and here I am, just accepting it.

"GADGET! WE NEED THAT SNIPER SUPPORT!"

Ghost. Tears sting my eyes. He is the only person who ever accepted me straight-up. He is all that I'd been completely sure of. Getting accepted into his group was the best thing that ever happened to me.

"EMILY! PLEASE ANSWER! WE NEED HELP!"

"Ghost we have to go!" Roach added.

My 'little brother'. The tears spill over for the first time in years and I feel all the barriers I'd ever created start to shake. I have let everyone down.

"This is Shepherd. We're almost at the LZ. What's your status, over?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, the tears escaping at a steadier rate. They're going to make it. Thank god.

_**BANG!**_

My eyes snap open and the tango above me falls flat against me, covering me in his blood. I gasp and struggle to shove his body off of myself. Who shot him?

I examine the body; a bullet between the eyes…but… only a sniper could…

I look at Archer's body, but his gun is still clutched across his lap like he'd always have it. His binoculars and hand-gun rest next to him. Who took that shot? I don't have time to think about that though. My hands close around the binoculars and I search for Ghost among the fighting.

He's still running. Still on his feet.

"GADGET? Gadget are you still there?"

I don't respond. Blood is all over my skin and clothes. My hair sticks to my face with the disgusting fluid. Tears continue to stain my face. My team is down there, I remind myself, they still need me. The trio continues to run, shooting, and dodging the rain of death that is beating down on them from the enemy. I can see that each one of them is injured. Roach is limping as he runs, Ghost is bleeding from his left side, and Grizzly is clinging to his wrist while he shoots with an M9.

They don't have time to talk, let alone get me to that LZ. I accept fate, apologizing in silent shouts the whole way.

"Hurry! We gotta get to the LZ! They're bracketing our position with mortars!" Grizzly's mind was elsewhere, and for that I was glad. We'd clashed so many times…but he was going to get my best friend and my 'boy-friend' out.

"HURRY! THE LZ IS UP AHEAD!" Ghost slowed up and covered Roach as he tried to make it the last stretch.

"But what about—"

"Keep moving she wouldn't want us to stop... not for a body…"

I've never heard so much pain come out in Ghost's voice. It's all I can do not to grab up that radio and tell him it's all okay. He thinks I'm gone. If he thought any different he wouldn't move one more inch unless it was my direction. _That's _how stubborn he is.

"ROACH! LOOK OUT!"

A mortar blocks my view of them; the explosion scattering debris in every direction. By the time it settles, I can only see Ghost and Roach. "HURRY YOU TWO!" Grizzly yells, apparently not about to stop and wait for his two superiors.

Ghost is dragging a much disoriented Roach by the back of his Kevlar. He can't stand any more. When the bug comes to his senses he snatches a loose gun and starts firing.

_C'mon Ghost…you can do it. _

He stops for a moment, throwing a smoke grenade and then grabbing the FNG's vest again. "Thunder-Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the treeline! Standby to engage on my mark!"

They're here. I feel dizzy and light-headed from blood loss and exhaustion. My legs start to give up and my hands shake.

"Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by." A friendly helo lowers down a bit and fires on the enemy, turning the tides.

Relief starts to ensue, until Roach goes limp again.

"ROACH, HANG IN THERE!"

I let go, satisfied. The binos fall to my feet and I follow, curling up in a prone position. Pain shakes my body and wrecks havoc in my bones. I'm so tired…so very tired…

"C'mon, get up! Get up! Get up! We're almost there!" Ghost pleads. For a moment I pretend he's next to me again, waking me up back on the sub, dragging me out of bed for our next mission.

The grounds embrace is so inviting as the sounds of gunshots melt away and there's just me and the walkie talkie. My vision dances. Blood continues to pour from my arm. Blind-spots pop up and colors swirl.

"Do you have the DSM?"

Shepherd…he is here to pick them up. If Shepherd has them, they'll be safe. They'll make it home. I won't die for nothing.

"We got it, sir!" Roach pants weakly.

"Right…we tied that one up." Grizzly is suddenly cool and calm, no longer screaming at the top of his lungs and wetting his cameos.

There's a pause and my eyes flutter closed. "Good. That's one less loose end." Shepherd's voice is…happy? Not extatic, but pleased…

I feel like I'm floating as the sound of my heart begins to fade. I count the beats and breathe slow, enjoying my last moments.

"NOO! ROACH!" Ghost's shout jolts me out of giving up life and I gasp as the surprise hits me. My heart races faster pumping the blood out faster, but insiting on keeping me alive.

I grab the binos with fumbling hands and lift them to see what is happening.

Shepherd is holding his pride-and-joy handgun, Roach is slipping out of Ghost's grip the carnage of a bullet tearing through him spewing all over the ground, and Grizzly is lifting his own gun to take out Ghost.

My heart begins to battle with my throat as Ghost pulls his own trigger and kills Grizzly, switching his target to the traitor general.

_**BANG!**_

I muffle a scream of pain and terror into my sleeve as Ghost falls.

Shepherd and Grizzly just tried to kill Roach and Ghost.

They switched sides on us…

No…

I shake my head, feeling dizzy again. _Looks like I need to stick around a while longer._

"You can't do this you S.O.B.!" Ghost bellows through the mic, apparently he'd forgotten to turn it off.

I drop the binoculars and pick up my sniper…no ammo. I run over to Toad's dropped weapon…empty. I snarl, dropping it again. Then I spot Archer's weapon. "Put them in the ditch. No more loose ends." I slowly stumble over to where Archer rests against the rocky cliff, kneeling down next to him.

His custom made sniper is covered in the last of his blood, his hands closed tightly around his favorite gun. I try not to remember the way he'd cleaned it on our way over. I'd teased him because he'd already done it two times before that. He'd just laughed and snapped it back together in that way he always did. Now it was dirtied by his own blood. He wouldn't have wanted it that way. I pry his dead fingers away from the weapon as quickly as I can, desperate to get this done with. I won't die like this. Finally the gun comes free and I look apologetically at the dead Archer. "I'm…I'm so sorry." I whisper, my voice hoarse from shouting. Sparing a moment to adjust his hood, I brush the sticky hair out of his face.

I kneel at the very edge of the hide then lift the sniper to my shoulder and take careful aim.

_Don't rush…You only have one shot at this. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast._

Shepherd's face appears in the scope, directly in the cross-hairs. I make the adjustments according to distance as precisely as I can without a spotter. Ghost is still cussing Shepherd out and I can hear Roach join in every now and then, his voice weak and desperate. I ignore them. Everything melts away. It's just me and Shepherd now. The men who are dragging Roach and Ghost to a ditch don't exist. Archer, Toad, and the Russian's bodies don't exist. 'Tavish and Price's shouts aren't there either. Just me, the trigger, and Shepherd.

"Goodbye, _**sir**_. _Sorry_ I was never that perfect soldier." I murmur, pulling the trigger decisively.

_**Click.**_

**…**

_**Click.**_

_**Click.**_

_**Click. . Click. .**_

If it had been any gun but Archer's favorite I would've thrown it and cursed its creator. I hadn't checked for ammo in his. It was cussing empty. EMPTY.

**Woahhhhhssss.**

**I'm really pumping the chapters out ain't I? Haha**

**Well, you guys better review this time, you're slacking off. JUST KIDDING!**

**But seriously, reviews make me happy. 804 of you have read this story just this week… If I am not happy this story will suck.**

**.**


	8. First Time for Everything

**[Ghost's POV]**

**(First Time for Everything)**

I land next to Roach in a heap, my shoulder exploding with pain. How did this happen? We were finally at the finish. Done. Almost free from this war. It all could've become something so much better. I'm covered in a pool of my own blood. Roach is in a similar predicament. "Roach…" I whisper hoarsely, reaching out and touching his arm. He looks at me, fear screaming from his eyes. Shepherd shot him and took the DSM. The impossible evil had suddenly become the reality. We were just pawns in his game.

"What are they going to do to us?"

I swallow hard, tasting blood in my throat and mouth. "I…I don't know."

"Thanks for teaching me Ghost." He whispers urgently, breath uneven. "I wouldn't have made it this far without your help."

"Don't mention it mate." I assure him.

"Well, if you aren't doing anything tonight I think you should take Gadget out to dinner. I think she had taken a fancy to you." Roach jokes, laughing meekly.

"Yeah," I sigh, "I guess she did."

"She's dead…right?"

"Yeah…"

"But we are too, eh?" Roach shrugs as best he can. "Afterlife and all that…? Got a whole eternity for that love stuff."

"Aye." I agree. I'm not really a strong believer, but I honestly think there is plenty of truth to the bible and all that. **** (Guilt-less Religion Plug!)**

"I suppose I could meet up with June."

"June?"

"My seceret girlfriend from the SAS days. She died…"

"Fine time to be telling me you had a girl, mate. I was starting to think you weren't completely straight."

Roach chuckles, "Yeah…no, I'm straight as an arrow. You are too, right?"

"You really haven't noticed that Gadget and I are together?"

"What? Fine time to be telling me _**you**_ have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything."

"Really? I figure this is my first time dying then." 

"You've tried your best on a number of occasions." I sigh.

I recognize the man who walks over. Private Myers. Sketch, as we always called him. A skinny, sketchy 19 year old who was always talking up shifty eyes and a paranoia problem, he wasn't always the best man to have around. But, he can bloody shoot. He is holding a large tank of gasoline. "Night, night boys." He cackles, dousing Roach from head to toe and dumping the last of the stuff on my legs. "Just buisness you know."

"Right." Roach coughs, blood rushing up and out of his throat in a thick red dribble. "Just buisness."

He walks off, still laughing at his own wit. Shepherd is standing to the right of the ditch, eyeing Roach and I with little interest.

The man is a self-indulging coward with less courage than a piece of driftwood. All he ever cared about was making up for those 30,000 men who died because of him. To do so, he created us…and killed us off. Shepherd is a traitor through and through. Gadget was right.

Gadget. Oh, god, Gadget. Emily…I think about how she's probably up in that hide, dead with Archer and Toad. How she was always trying to make light out of everything. How she never cried. How she always found ways to make us smile or laugh. How she'd whisper 'I love you' every chance she had. How she blushed when I would whisper it back. How she'd spend the night talking whenever I was stuck in the infirmary. How she'd sneak out of her own visits days early…

"DO NOT TRUST SHEPHERD!" 'Tavish is screaming warnings to us through my radio, but I can't get myself to answer. My eyes are glued on Shepherd. There's no guilt in those pale green eyes. No emotion revealing any kind of sorrow or rergret or even victory. Just the same bloody expression he always has. Blank.

He takes a few steps forward, staring straight at me. I glare back, not caring that he can't see the hate in my eyes past the red tinted sunglasses. All I want is to jump up and give him a kick in the goods. Then shoot him until he's just a bunch of holes. And then soak him in gasoline and light him with his own cigar.

It doesn't matter what I want though.

It's up to him now.

And judging by that half-finished and incredibly expensive cigar he's got burning I'd guess he's not gonna laugh and help us up. No way in all of hell.

I think one last goodbye to everyone on the team and give my 'brother's' arm one last squeeze. I don't even bother tearing up as the cigar flies a beautiful arc towards Roach. It lands straight on his chest…and he bursts into flames. The hungry fire rushes towards me, climbing up my arms and to my mask, burning my skin and eating at my clothes. I cry out deeply, thrashing a bit involuntarily.

Roach doesn't make a sound and he sits so still I have to wonder if he's already dead.

The flames lick at my exposed skin and I close my eyes, coughing up a storm as the smoke makes its way into my lungs.

It's so unfair.

To go down like this…

A soldier,

Betrayed and beaten before,

Finally making it out,

Things getting back to near normal,

Spending time with loved ones

Having everything torn away again,

Losing everything,

Going insane,

Comminting murders,

Attempting suicide on a number of occasions,

Finally clawing back to the real world,

Climbing back to the heights of military comand,

Finding a real place where true happiness is,

Making friends,

Turning into family,

Keeping that careful distance,

Falling in love,

Everything falling into place…

Then losing everything once again.

Burned alive.

None of it's ever fair.

"SHEPHERD!" I scream as his helo takes of, flying him to safety.

And for the first time in my entire life I give up.

There_** is**_ a first time for everything after all.

My eyes water as they slide closed. The pain takes over my body. And I let go, falling into darkness.


	9. Not So Good A Soldier

**[CONNECTION Lost]**

**{Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley DICONNECTED}**

**[RUNNING Diagnostics]**

**[Soldier; FLATLINED]**

**[SEARCH Sgt. Emily 'Gadget' Robins]**

**{Sgt. Emily 'Gadget' Robins TERMINATED}**

**[FLATLINED]**

**{SEARCHING Sgt. Gary 'Roach' Sanderson TERMINATED}**

**[FLATLINED]**

**[Search Cpt. John 'Soap' Mactavish]**

**(Not So Good a Soldier) **

I cough again, my body trying to dispell itself of so much inhaled water. Sputtering and gagging is all I can manage for a few more moments. Vision blurry and body shaking I roll onto my hands and knees. More water escapes my mouth. "Wonderful…" I mutter sarcastically as the las bit comes up. I lift my head wearily, "Price?"

The British captain is no where in sight. I look back at the waterfall that we'd just fallen over in our wild chase to kill Shepherd. My eyes wander from the cascading water to the inferno blazing around what used to be a massive pave-low, then to the sharpened knife in the sand. Its blade glinted in the sunlight, a stark difference from the mono-colored sand. It's calling to me desperately, begging me to get up off of my lazy rear and finish off that S.O.B. America considers a soldier. My guns are drowned in the river.

What's the point though? I let my head thud back into the sand, the abbrasive matter clinging to my still damp forehead. Even from a distance I can hear the fire crackling loudly. Nobody, not even a sleasy dirt bag like Shepherd, could survive a crash like that.

Then again, nobody can survive years of torture at the hands of psycopaths and then live a semi-sane life…but Ghost did. No FNG can survive being captured by a billion dollar drug ring without giving them any information…but Gadget did. No sniper can take down a moving target from 400 yards away…but Archer and Toad did that for fun. Nobody could go into a Russian base with only a handgun and a single brick of C4 and burn the whole place down…but Meat did, whether the latter part was on purpose or not. Royce, Scarecrow, and Ozone could storm Rio and defuse ten bombs within 25 minutes. Worm could figure out distances and wind speeds within seconds of arriving at a location. Price wasn't supposed to have survived the Gulag…but he did.

No 141 FNG could become a Captain in less than 5 years, but I had.

No human being could do what Shepherd had done to my men…and yet here I am now. My entire team is dead once again.

I drag myself into a standing position, not really wanting to get up in the slightest. I turn my gaze to the twisted metal that makes up the wreckage. Black smoke plumes into the air, making it even more impossible to breathe or see. I cough again and take a shaky step forward. The world flashes around me and I nearly fall flat on my face. I squeeze my eyes shut. Panting slightly, I stumble forward, eyes now fixed solidly on the helicopter.

I almost don't even see him. In fact, I almost step on him. A young Shadow Company soldier, maybe 19 years old, is dragging himself away from the crash. He's green as grass. I can tell by the way he's sobbing. Blood trails after him in a sick line of sticky red. I can faintly see the glint of metal shrapnel sticking out of his mid-section. The red liquid is spilling out of his mouth now, dripping to the sand. Pity overwhelms me as he notices my prescense. "Mister…hey mister, please!" He's southern American. I drop down next to him and roll him onto his back.

"Easy kid," I mutter.

He looks down at the massive chuck of helicopter that's sticking out of him. "Oh man…Oh man oh man."

"Calm down." I order.

There's not much I can do for him, but I snatch the med-kit off of his Kevlar. Half the stuff is ripped or crushed to the point of uselessness. The morphine is still intact. The whole time I worked the kid kept whispering, "Oh man…oh man oh man…awe Jesus…" I inject the pain killer and he goes silent for a moment.

"Better?"

His entire body slackens, eyes staring up at the smoke-stained clouds. I feel for a pulse, fingers meeting cold skin. I shake my head and read the name. Private Stevens, according to his tags he's 18, not 19. Sighing, I leave the kid in his own blood, fastening the half-useless med pack to my belt. I still feel a bit off as I head closer to the wreckage, the sudden heat from the flames making me cough again.

There's a near deafening screech from the very edge of the pile and another Shadow Company lad comes stumbling out. He's shortly followed by my target. They're both stumbling and coughing like I am.

"SHEPHERD!" I yell, readying my knife for a good throw.

He looks at me, shock clear on his face. The knife leaves my hand, spinning end over end in a well practiced arc. The old man sees it coming and grabs the kid's arm, pulling him in front of his own body as a human sheild. With a sickening 'SPUKK' sound a geyser of blood expoles from the soldier's throat. Shepherd pushes the dying man away and makes a not-so-graceful escape.

I stagger forward and grab my knife from the body, chasing after the general I had once admired and trusted. I can barely see through the blowing sand and blinding light of the desert, "SHEPHERD!" I yell again, moving as quickly as my exhausted body would allow. Slowly, but surely, a small metal structure comes into view. Badly rusted from the elements it stands unsurely. At the foot of the structure stands Shepherd. I hold back the urge to shout again. Better to just play it cool.

What a load of bull, playing it cool. Everyone trys so hard to cover up real emotion. To hide behind everything. I remember how Ghost and Gadget did it all the time. I can't even stand thinking about them anymore. Even Roach was hiding sorrow behind good humor and quick remarks. I swallow hard. Royce always pretended he was all right with missing Christmas those few years he had to. Meat was always being the tough guy. Scarecrow acted like he didn't even own an emotion.

Why did we all have to pretend? I did it too, shrugging off the death of my men as best as I could when it happened. Why did it all have to be one big charade?

My thoughts die out by the time I reach the rusted up truck Shepherd is at. He glances up at me, spotting the bloody knife in my hand. "Came to finish the job, eh Mactavish?"

"Yes, sir." I nod, staring him down.

He doesn't look up again. "You were always such a good soldier…"

I have to mentally slap myself after a comment like that. I just chased this man down like a sick dog. Now, of all times, he's telling a man that he just betrayed, who, by the way, is about to kill him, what a good soldier he is? "You always were crazy." I return.

"Let me finish…You _**were **_a good soldier… One of the best…" He pants slightly between the words. I must be too, by the way my chest is heaving. "But you were never willing to do what was really necessary… never willing to take that final step."

My hand tightens around the knife's handle. I slowly step closer, now only a few feet from the man who I want to kill so badly. Just when I begin to lift the weapon.

"Go on…" He urges darkly, still not looking up. "Do it. It won't change anything."

His words strike me hard and my demeanor falls away for just a moment.

"They're still dead John. Killing me doesn't bring them back…"

I look down at my soggy boots. In my head I maul this over while Shepherd continues his speech.

"You're men will still be dead. You'll still be a wanted man." His face suddenly contorts with anger, though his eyes don't leave the sand. "You still won't gain anything. Sure, you'll get the satisfaction of killing me, but the cost outweighs your gain here." I shake my head, trying to block out his words. "Doesn't it hurt you to know that every last one of your loved ones is dead by the hand that once fed you Mactavish?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is just another one of his games. I can't listen to him.

"Riley, Mullens, Slater, Ronalds, Robins, Andrews, Lawrence, Sanderson, even Price... all of them!" His voice is icy. "I killed them all and there's not one thing in hell you can do about it." He spits on the dry desert. "It's not even worth the satisfaction anymore…is it."

His words bounce around in my head, driving me near insanity. The worst part is he is probably right. A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach and my throat is suddenly so dry I can't speak. My knife hand feels like it's just dead weight, unable to do anyting but loosly hold onto the last weapon I have to my name.

"Well?" Shepherd growls. "Do it."

I can't bring myself to move. All I can do is think about those who died because I sent them to that estate. All greatly talented men—and woman—who had lives ahead of them and ingenuity and baffling pasts behind them and brave hearts and strong minds. It kills me to think about all those days we spent in the barracks as a family. Not a squad of hardened soldiers who kept to themselves. A real family.

They would all do what I have to in a heart beat if they were in my shoes.

"You're wrong, Shepherd."

Finally, that cusser looks up at me.

I don't hesitate anymore. "You're dead-cussing-wrong. You never gave a single passing glace when one of our own died in the field. You never batted an eye when we were injured. You never cared." My heart begins to pound faster with realization. "All you ever wanted was to erase your own history. You didn't win your first time around; you failed miserably."

He almost seems to shrink back at this new side of me.

I'm ticked now and launch into a full rant. "I always thought that you were the one who would lead the 141 to ending hostility in between Russia and America. I always saw you as a great leader. It didn't matter that you'd _screwed the pooch_ so badly all those years ago. I thought you'd learned from it. Instead…instead it left you a joke! A psycopath! You brought the greatest men in the world under your authority to lead them to death like a flock of sheep to slaughter. You were never worth any of my effort."

I sneer, the knife finally coming up for a final stab.

"And you never will be."

I launch forward; knife poised to kill, ready to finally do what was necsessary.

**[CONNECTION Lost]**

**Mmmmmmmkayy. There you go. Chapter…9 is it? Yeppers it is.**

**If you could all take the time, please review. I need a lot of inspiration for the coming battles, and without some critiquing—even flames—this story will fail.**

**I mean it. It'll get ugly. **

**Okay dokay, please hit the review button.**

**Also, someone please threaten ecto 1B to continue The Ghost that Haunted Me RIGHT EXACTLY NOW! The suspense is slowly killing me, haha.**

**All righty. Unfortunately, I have no list of stories for you. Sorry, I'm rehearsing for a play AND rehearsing for another auditon for a BIG musical. Busy, busy, busy!**

**EGR.**


	10. The Other One

**[Search Cpt. John 'Soap' Mactavish]**

**[2 hours after prev. Transmission]**

**(The Other One)**

I can hardly breathe. The pain is becoming so acute that I can't think. Barely aware of my surroundings and unable to move I just listen. "We are landing now. Is he still alive?"

Two fingers press against my jugular, checking for a pulse. "Yes. Keep it steady Nikolai, his bandages are coming open."

The helicopter veers to the right and gently touches down. I have no idea where we are. I don't really care either. It's done. I killed him. The thought of his body lying there is so satisfying. I wish I could've grabbed that knife; it would've been a nice trophy. Slowly I open my heavy eyelids, spotting Price and Nikolai's concerned faces above me. I force a smile, which comes out more of a grimance, ignoring the new wave of pain from my ribs. "G'morning gentlemen," I mutter, voice hoarse and full of the exhaustion I am feeling. "That was a smooth flight."

"How are you feeling Soap?"

"Peachy; swell even."

"That is good to hear." Nikolai grins.

I give him an odd look. "I was being sarcastic."

The smile disappears, "Oh."

"Let's get going." Price urges, probably already annoyed with having to drag Nikolai around. I let my eyes shut again as they push me into a sitting position, stand me up, and half-carry me out of the Pave-low. I can barely think straight let alone stand on my own, or even with their help. Pathetic, I know, but I could care less at the moment. I groan in pain as the wound stretches out and bleeds faster, dousing me in sticky red liquid. My feet don't want to co-operate and refuse to move as they drag me to a re-enforced door.

Nikolai knocks forcefully and a small hatch opens up. No face appears, but a nervous voice says, "Yes?"

"Sveta, it is Nikolai. We need to come in."

"We…" The voice belonged to a woman. I knew that for certain even without seeing her face. "What 'we'? You brought someone here?"

Nikolai looks a little annoyed. "Sveta, darling, we do not have time for this."

"I am not your 'darling' and I am not letting you in." Her accent is Russian. She sounds beyond annoyed by our intrusion, especially when she knows it's Nikolai calling on her.

The pilot groans, listing off a few obscenities. "_PLEASE, _let us in."

"No. Go find some one else to drag along on one of your mindless adventures." The slide on the door begins to close up again. "Goodbye."

"WAIT!" He calls. "My friend is injured."

Now a pair of bright blue eyes appears in the opening. They lock on Nikolai for a moment, before flitting over to me. The icy blues examine me for a moment before the woman mutters some Russian profanities and sighs. "I must be out of my mind." The slot snaps shut and the door swings open. "Get your rears inside before someone sees you."

Price and Nikolai hastily obey, guiding me inside. I groan again. It's all I can do to keep from whimpering…or blacking out for that matter.

"Where do you want us to put him down?" Nikolai grunts.

"I have an extra cot in the back. We can not keep him in the foyer, now can we?" Sveta returns coolly, leading us through a short hallway. The whole place looks like a regular cabin—minus the front door—and could easily pass of as a person's residence. Nobody could be truly suspicious until they reached the back room.

Sveta brushes her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder before knocking three times on the wooden wall. "Coming," The wall, which houses a secret door, creaks open and reveals a thin young man standing there. "I thought I heard Nikolai," Great…an Irish guy, I can tell just by his ridiculous accent. "Welcome back. How's it been on the open range?"

"Terrible," Nikolai smiles, "Look what I brought home."

"More outlaws." The man laughs and steps aside, allowing us entrance. The hidden room is all concrete, looking more like a bunker than a home. "Put that on the cot. I'll pull another for both of you."

"Easy, Nikolai," Sveta urges from behind us. "Do not injure him."

"Da," He returns curtly. Price and I share a quick smirk before chuckling softly. It's clear that the two Russians didn't part on the best of terms.

"Up we go," The unintroduced man urges, helping Nikolai and Price lift me onto the white sheets of a hospital cot, "How you feeling?"

"Bloody brilliant," I mutter, fighting off another bout of white hot pain.

He laughs again, good-naturedly of course, and pats my shoulder. "You're among friends now." His eyes flick to my chest. "Sveta, you better handle this 'un. He's bleedin' like a facet."

"Just a moment," Though Sveta is in my blind spot from this position I can hear a tap running. "You take care of the other one."

Price makes a mock-indignant face because of being called 'other one' before going to sit on another cot. I take the momentary pause to look around the room. It's a pretty large space, filled to the brim with medical supplies. It could almost pass off as one of the larger rooms in the infirmary back at the base, other than the concrete, though it lacks some of the more technological equipment. I notice that a portion of the large room is curtained off, but before I can ask about it Sveta sticks me with an IV. "GAH! Don't sneak up on somebody with one of those things!"

The woman just chuckles and shakes her head. "Just take some deep breaths. Trust me; you do not want to be awake for this."

"I don't want to go to sleep…ye—"

My eyes slide closed between sleep and ye— and I never finish saying 'yet'.

**[Transmission CUT]**

**{CONTINUE CODE REQUIRED}**

**[ENTER CODE ********]**

**{DENIED}**

**[********]**

**{DENIED}**

**[RUN Trojen5567339532]**

**{ACCEPTED}**

**[TRANSMISSION Continue]**

By the time I wake up, Sveta and mystery man have finished working on us and have disappeared. I spot Nikolai and Price talking quietly. I lift my head as best I can and call, "Mind telling me where the hell we are?"

"Goodmorning, princess," Price laughs, coming over to my cot. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I admit while letting my head fall back against the pillow. "Sveta's a good medic."

"Da, I knew she could handle this." Nikolai smiles proudly.

My (former, since we've become outlaws and lost our titles) captain rolls his eyes at the Russian's statement. "Big success there Nikolai. You also sucsessfully ticked her off this morning."

"That wasn't me."

"Who was it, the voice inside your head?"

"Da—I mean no."

"Gentlemen," I interject, not really wanting to be forgotten.

My call, however, goes unanswered.

"You are the one who asked about the curtains."

"You're the one who pushed the subject too far."

"Excuse me," I try again—though still ignored.

"Only because I could tell you were curious."

"But you knew it was a bad idea."

"Hellloooooooooo…" I go one last time, albeit annoyed about it.

"What?" They demand in unison.

"I'm hungry." I pout childishly, trying to steer the conversation back to our current situation and not what happened while I was unconsious.

Price stares at me with a look of surprise for a moment before letting out great peals of laughter. "You're still a little kid, you know that John."

"We can't all be_** old **_and decrepit like _**you**_." I chuckle, flinching when the slight movement pulls at my stitches.

There's hardly a moment of silence before the door bursts open and Sveta charges through, accompanied by the man from earlier. They threw open the curtained portion of the room, revealing several more cots. "Get them in here NOW. I'll get some IVs ready."

The man nods, leaving Sveta to her work. She dashes around, sorting through needles and IV bags and medicines and all kinds of medical junk. The whole time she was muttering to herself about people intruding on her home and her privacy like a bunch of helpless children with no homes. I feel a little guilty now. After all, this woman probably tried to live a normal life with a war going on around her. Now she has it crashing through her front door, demanding attention and help.

The door swings open again and another man walks in, carrying a bundled up person in his massive arms, the form half slumped over his shoulder. "Where do you want 'em?" He asks gruffly.

"Just on one of these cots." Sveta waves her hand dismissively, too engrossed in her work to actually look up. She pulls an assortment of bandages down from the top shelf. "Go help Sean with the other one." Finally satisfied with her array of equipment she turns to the new patient.

The muscular figure glances over at the three of us, sizing us up. "Who are these clowns?"

Sveta, annoyed by the further interruption, glares at him. "Terrance, they are not 'clowns' they are my guests. Go. Help. Sean." The man shrugs and hurries out the door, apparently to go help the Irishman bring in another patient. Meanwhile, the blonde woman gets back to work, eyes focused on the patient, who is still hidden from our view. Her gaze is intense. She doesn't falter once as she pulls off a very bloody army vest and then a ripped Kevlar follows it to the floor. "This will be harder than the last one." She mutters, barely loud enough for us to hear.

Sean and Terrance return, helping a wounded man through the door. They stop in the doorway for a moment. That's when the man looks up and identifies us. "Soap?"

I lift my head for a better view. "Ghost?"

"Ghost?" Price repeats.

"Price?" Ghost's mask is gone and his face is bandaged in several different spots, but it is definitely and undeniably him.

"Do not forget about me."

"Nikolai's here too?" Ghost shrugs away the helping hands of Sean and Terrance, hobbling over to us. "You have no idea what a relief it is to see friendly faces again." His smile is genuine, showing off his ever-hidden features. "I thought for sure we were all dead."

"Terrance, I need help over here." Sveta interrupts.

"Sorry, doll, I was distracted by the three outlaws in your care." He hurries over to her side. I notice that Nikolai stiffens slightly as he calls her this. No-one notices but me. "She flat-lined twice already."

"Perfect." Our temporary medic hisses, grabbing another roll of bandages and rolling a blood transfusion over to the bedside. "Sean, take care of that one." She motions at Ghost.

He mutters, "I guess I'm 'that one'." And follows his designated doctor to his own cot.

Price and I share a worried look as we watch him wave off Sean's offered help and limp to the cot in a very unsteady stagger. He sinks into the matress and calls over to us, "I'd love to hear more about your adventure."

Before any of us can speak up, his 'doctor' interupts. "There will be time for chatter later. For now, we need ta take care a' this." Ignoring Ghost's following grumbles and curses; Sean steps forward and closes the curtains.

It isn't long before Nikolai finds his voice. "Well…that was strange."

"Yes," I nod as best as I can with my head against the pillow. "Very strange." I can barely think straight. Ghost is alive. He's still the same old, stubborn, strong man as before. He's right on the other side of a thin blue curtain.

"He didn't seem all right to me. Did you see that limp?" Price notes, keeping his voice low in case Ghost wasn't out yet.

"Da." Nikolai agrees. His expression goes from concerned to down-right worried. "He is covered in blood too. Why is it that you all seem to be covered in blood _**every**_ time I meet up with you?"

"Not every time." I argue.

"Every time." He repeats, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. "Every time."

"Don't visit anymore then," I laugh, "I'm still hungry."

Honestly, I could care less about the food at the moment. I really want to know how Ghost bloody survived Shepherd's betrayl. I heard the confirm-kill with my own two ears! Both he and Roach were tossed into a pit and lit on fire! Nobody had been around to help them out. These questions—and countless others—are currently eating away at my mind, begging for some form of attention. But they'll have to wait. Ghost needs rest. And, though I hate to admit it, I do too. So do Price and Nikolai.

I can still hear Sveta and Terrance talking quietly. No name pops up or any other key words as to who their fifth patient is. It's maddening to know that someone else is here who could be one of our friends is over there with one of our supposedly dead comrades. Whoever it is must be having a hard time. Terrance _did _say that they'd already flatlined a few times.

Again the questions are shoved to the side. I make a short effort to give up, only to be pushed roughly back down by Price. "No." He says simply. "Get some more rest."

"_**You**_ get some more rest." I retort, trying again. He steps back and watches me struggle, a satisfied smirk on his face. Finally, with a defeated huff, I give up and grumble, "This is gonna get boring _real _fast."

**[Connection Lost]**

**I have no patience for an author's note. Deal with it. ^.^**


	11. What This World Has Come To PART 1

**[Ghost's POV]**

**(What This World Has Come To)**

I blink away sleep as best I can, nearly too exhausted to move. The first thing I'm aware of is the stiffness of my left shoulder, then the dull aching in my legs. Slowly, but surely, the awareness builds up to the splitting headache. I just can't take it anymore. I have to stretch.

After a long—and rather unpleasent—struggle to sit up I can get a good look around. The walls and floor are concrete, as is the short slab of counter space. Medical equipment is strewn all across said counter and lines the wooden cabinets up against the walls. Two cots sit across from me, though only one is occupied. To my left is a sky-blue curtain. To my right are an IV bag and also a blood bag up on one of those rolling metal stands. I sigh and look down at my hands. My left arm is hidden by a sling and my right wrist is tightly wound with gauze. I can feel the soft material of more bandages around my left ankle and right knee. My ribs are sore as hell. Not to mention the burns I can feel on my neck.

My eyes travel from my own injuries to my 'room-mate' on the other cot. They're still asleep, eyes closed serenely. I pull myself out of bed and stagger over to the other side of the room clumsily, cursing my own two feet the whole way. It's only a five or six foot walk, but it seems like an eternity with every last one of my injuries screaming at me to stop every inch of the way.

Finally, I reach my destination and sink into the dingy old armchair next to the cot. I hiss in pain, as quietly as I can at least, as the injuries are strained and pulled at. Cursing Makarov and Shepherd simultaneously as I make myself as comfortable as possible is the only way to get my mind off the pain. Once I'm settled I zero my attention on the patient in the cot beside me.

Burns decorate her hands, arms, and face; which is littered with scratches. A big purple and red bruise pervades her upper right cheek, startlingly resembling a pistol-butt. Bloody bandages hide two bullet holes on her right arm and ribcage. Her hair is matted with the dry substance. It hurts me to see her like this. So alone and torn up by those who we thought we could trust. "You're stupid, you know that?" I whisper to her, brushing the limp fingers of her closest hand gently. "Dragging me out of the fire like that…what on earth were you thinking?"

No response is offered and I don't expect one to come. She's in such a deep sleep I don't think she'll wake up anytime today. I brush the tangled hair away from her closed eyes. Listening to her breathe is relaxing, almost therapeutic. Only two days ago I was so sure she was dead. Now, here she is.

I interlace my fingers with hers, remembering how she'd hastily pull away her hand when someone was coming. I'd always laugh and knock her shoulder teasingly. She'd grin and giggle and pretend that we'd been talking about training or something. Nobody ever knew about us. I examine the puffy half of her face, hoping she's not in too much pain. If I'm right, and that is from a pistol to the face, it had to make her see stars. I ignore the twinge in my heart as I imagine the smile she'd always have replaced with a grimace or her soft voice that I'd heard so many times crying out in pain.

"If you give up on me now I'll never forgive you," I threaten softly, smiling a little to let her know that I wasn't serious. Even if the effort is a waste I feel more natural talking to her than just staring at her broken body. "You've dragged me back into this mess, if you leave me alone in it I'll probably have to cry."

She still doesn't show any kind of response. I can't blame her, really, she died…twice. I sigh and lean against the arm of my chair. Exhaustion starts to take over as I recall the events of the previous few days.

_**FLASHBACK!**_

Strong hands are pulling me out and away from the fire. I continue to stay limp; my eyelids too heavy to open. The pain has subsided into a numbness that I've never felt before. "Oh god!" The voice seems so far off and distant. "Oh god…Don't die on me now…" Light burns my eyes as I venture to open them.

The voice becomes further off, calling, "HANG IN THERE ROACH!" It was followed by a scream of agony.

Roach…but…

My eyes fly open in realization. "ROACH!" I lift my head as best I can, trying to see through smoke and ask in the air. A figure is leaning into the fire, pulling Roach out, and dragging him over to me.

"Stay with me…c'mon…stay with me!" They pat out the flames from his clothes and then their own arms and shoulders. Then they press their fingers to his throat. Hysteria is taking over the person's voice as they search for a pulse on the kid's neck. "NO! OH GOD!"

I feel sick and let my head thud back, too exhausted and injured to keep it up. Roach is dead…

I can't stay awake any longer. My eyes slide closed again-completely ready to give it all up. I only get a few seconds of the darkness before a stinging slap is delivered to my cheek, "Don't leave me out here...not alone…you promised…" The voice sobs. Another slap comes and this time I snap my eyes open.

Brown eyes, sparkling with tears, meet my own. Blood stained cheeks reveal only small streams of pale skin from where the salty liquid had already run down. Matted brown hair whips in the wind. A badly bloodied and burned uniform reveals a name. 'Robins'.

"G-Gadget?" I struggle with the words.

The tears don't stop. "I'm right here Ghost…Right here…" She looks up at the horizon, eyes widening due to something I can't see. "We have to go... Can you stand?"

I can only nod, not trusting my voice.

"All right." She pushes me into a sitting position. "Let's go."

We walk through the shrapnel filled field, around the splintered trees of the small woods, up the body littered hill, and to the decimated front door of Makarov's hideout. The whole endeavor is excruciating for the both of us. Gadget clings to me, relying on me for support as we make the trek. I lean against her as little as possible. My other injuries are nothing compared to hers.

Burns spread across her arms, leaving them bare up to her elbows. The fire had eaten away her sleeves. Her right shoulder is bandaged messily and blood is flowing out of it slowly. A swelling bruise is on her cheek, barely visible past more blood coming from a nasty cut on her hairline and another on the bridge of her nose. Scratches and scraps litter every bit of visible skin and bruises highlight them.

Every time I go to talk she hushes me, pleading, "Not now…later…just not now…"

I have to obey. Her voice is so weak. So stricken with pain and betrayal. When we reach the stairs we share a sigh of relief, staggering up them and into the kitchen. I lift her hurriedly onto the counter and unclasp my half-fried medical kit. I only glance up at Gadget's face before going about my work, slicing open the front of her jacket and pulling off her Kevlar. The material of her undershirt is stained dirty red with blood. I check each of her wounds. Luckily they all have an entrance and exit point, so I clean and stitch them up.

"I…I tried Ghost…" I look up to see her crying again. "I really did try…"

"Shhhhhhh, it's all right love," I whisper, wrapping gauze around her arm.

She shakes her head. "No…it isn't…I…I…"

"Easy…" I pull her against my chest, hugging her.

She pushes away gently, gesturing me to take my turn on the counter. She slowly works on my shoulder, digging out the bullet. I grip her arm, gnashing my teeth against the pain. Her sobs subside for the time being. We sit in silence. It wasn't a comforting silence that we usually share either. It was the kind of silence that you felt like you were choking on; a silence that strangles your thoughts and claws at your throat. The pain isn't exactly matching up well with the utter silence, but I bite back every hiss or groan to the best of my ability.

Finally Gadget speaks. Her voice cracks with a deep hoarseness, probably from shouting for the past few hours and crying. "What…what just happened to us, Ghost?" She tries, unsuccsesfully, to block another onset of tears.

"Oh Gadget," I pull her against me again, not hopping down from the counter. "Shhh…" She sobs into my good shoulder; clinging to me with a desperation that I'd never known before. She's clung to me in every other emotion; relief excitement, fear…but never desperation. I returned the hug with as much enthusiasm as I could muster in my current state. "It's going to be okay, love."

"No it isn't." She's shaking now. "We're going to die out here." I tighten my embrace. "Mactavish and Price are dead in a desert somewhere." She isn't letting the tears affect her voice. "They hunted Nikolai down and killed him in cold blood."

"Don't say things like that…" I plead.

The shaking intensifies and she knots her fingers in my hair. "Why not? They're all dead, Simon, dead! All of them…are dead… Toad and Archer are soaked in their own blood in their hide. We passed Ozone on our way in. Scarecrow is right in the room next to us! That new kid…Harley…he's out in the field! We don't even cussing _know _what Bishop looks like anymore after that RPG got him!" I can practically feel her coming off the hinges as I hold her close. She just can't handle this. She's still so human. So delicate.

The shaking is what's scaring me most. It's like she can't even control her muscles. No wonder Shepherd mistook her for 'shaky'. "There was nothing we could've done. We didn't know—"

Gadget suddenly tears away from my grasp, rubbing her arms as if she's cold. "Nothing we could've done?" Her eyes are red with sorrow, "It's my fault Roach is dead…if I would've been faster." I've never seen such a look on Emily's face. I've seen her in every state of mind. Back at the drug-house she'd been so out of her mind she didn't even know who anyone was. She'd been so completely not-herself, and yet there had been strength evident in her eyes. She'd pulled through because she was still hoping to live. When Royce and Meat died, two of her best friends, she'd been defiant. She hadn't cried.

Now…now all there was on those features I'd come to adore was pain and suffering and loneliness.

Her back is suddenly turned my way. I painstakingly lift myself off of the counter; the movement is accompanied with many groans in pain and tugs at the fragile stitching on my shoulder and side. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her thin waist, pulling her back against my chest. Then I rest my head on her shoulder. She leans her cheek to mine. I don't even care that it's covered in tears; I just want her close to me.

I whisper softly, "I'm sorry this happened…And I'm sorry they're dead. But there's nothing any of us could've done. But it was a freak accident. We couldn't have seen Shepherd plotting to kill us."

"I watched the whole thing from my hide, Simon. I had Shepherd in my cussing sights the whole time!" Her still bloody hands fly to the sides of her head, grasping at her hair and giving her a look of sheer desperation. "I went to take the shot and….and…"

I spin her around roughly and grip her shoulders with as much firmness possible without hurting her. Our eyes meet and I say, "Listen to what I say right now. This is not your fault in any way, Emily." I shake her a little to get my point across. "There was nothing you could've done. Let's say you would've made the shot and killed Shepherd. What then? It wouldn't have changed anything."

**[WARNING!]**

**[ERROR]**

**[OVERIDE IN PROG.]**

**[DANGER!]**

**[WALL BREACH ON SOUTH TERMINAL]**

**[WARNING!]**

**[SEC. BREACH AT POINT BRAVO 6]**

**[WARNING!]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS SHUT DOWN]**

**[EVAC. IN PROG.]**

**{connection terminated from outside source.}**

**{unable to override}**

**{unable to run programs}**

**{system shut down.}**


	12. What This World Has Come To PART 2 of 3

**(What This World Has Come To)**

I don't break eye contact with Gadget as we stand in the unearthly quiet of the kitchen. She stares up at me. Everything about her is screaming in pain and fear and longing and for a moment I think she's going to start crying all over again or apologize for saying that. Instead, her brown eyes just stay wide open in disbelief. I shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze. We're at a stale-mate; neither of us having anything to say in our own defense nor wanting to say anything else to hurt the other. I wonder, for a moment, if I shouldn't have said anything on the matter and let it slide. The look on her face is proof enough that she's in no mind-set to deal with this, let alone the fact that we were lead straight into this trap by Shepherd…like some sort of flock of sheep.

Ironic, isn't it? Shepherd led his flock—his pride-and-joy-squad of 'prima-donna' men, who followed his orders for years, trusted him with their lives—to a slaughter that none of us could truly ever escape.

Suits the name.

In a sick, twisted kind of way at least.

He took the best of us; Gadget and Roach, who were both so innocent, uncontaminated by the horrors of mutiny and betrayal, Mactavish, Scarecrow, and Ozone who were the most trustworthy men I ever laid eyes on, Archer and Toad, Worm, Meat… my bloody FAMILY; and tore us all apart in a way that can never be fixed.

I look away from Gadget, unable to stand the screaming pain from her eyes anymore. It all hurts…my head, my arms…mostly my shoulder.

I can't even look at the woman I love and tell her it'll be all right.

_Because I know it will __**never**__ be all right._

All the aches and pains that Roba and his men had inflicted upon me were never lifted by the love of my makeshift family or even Emily's healing smile. I still heard his laugh in the middle of the night, could still feel the pain of a thousand different wounds given by the hands and blades of his men, still see my own face in that god-forsaken room of mirrors.

I want to tear myself apart.

I can practically feel my sanity slipping across the linoleum of the kitchen's floor. It's all flooding back. The betrayal. Watching my team die. Watching Roach die. Listening to Price's screams of warning. Seeing Emily becoming unhinged. It's all coming back.

I lean against the counter and dry heave for a moment, desperately trying to control myself. _**Oh god…Oh god…**_

Knives glint in the hands of enemies. Hyena-like laughs bounce off the walls. Bombs explode. Mirrors crack and shatter. Picture frames clatter to the floor. Blood stains freshly cleaned carpet. Tears burn at my cheeks. _**Nothing's real.**_

Choking is all I can seem to manage for a moment.

I've completely lost my grip on reality.

_**Nothing's real. **_

That god-awful laugh.

The knives.

The sick grins.

The mirrors.

_**Oh god…**_

I heave again, blinded by salty tears. I feel deaf from misery and hate.

The revolver pointing straight at him.

That moment where I just couldn't move.

Gadget's hands yanking on my vest.

Her screams of agony as she tried to yank Roach out of the fire faster.

No arms of comfort reach for me. No gentle hands come to help. I look up and she's just standing there, staring at me. I reach for her, still heaving and crying and loosing grip on everything.

_**Oh god…**_

She turns away…

_**This **__**can't**__** be real…**_

_**(Ghost Regains Consciousness)**_

I sit up with a start, grasping at my own throat as if trying to get rid of a strangling arm. An unintelligible groan escapes my lips as I come back to reality, followed by a sigh of relief when I realize it was just a dream…mostly. I look to Gadget. Now she's resting peacefully, then she was trying her hardest to hold both of us together. Maybe in the dream she'd turned and run.

But I knew the truth.

I pant and rub my temples, heart thumping away in my chest, trying to erase the feelings welled up inside from the dream. It had been so real. It all happened again, right before my eyes. My stomach threatens to heave again, but with no food in it all I do is gag.

Once the nauseousness passes I manage to get my bearings. The curtain is still in place and no light shines from beneath it, so I assume it's either nighttime or the others are sleeping. Gadget groans in her sleep and balls the sheets in her hands. Tears stream out of the corners of her eyes. "Shhh…" I hush her, placing a hand on her fist. "You're okay…We're safe…" Her features are contorted with agony as the tears fall faster. I look around for a heart rate monitor, but when I don't spot one I stagger out of the chair and over to the curtains. I tear them open and call, "Something's wrong!"

The door smashes open and Sveta enters quickly, shoves me to the side, and goes to Gadget. I begin to follow only to have the curtains pulled shut a mere inch in front of my nose. Grumbling in annoyance, I turn to face the now awoken men. "What is going on?" Nikolai yawns, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his knuckles.

Price sits up and swings his legs over the edge of his cot. "Is she okay?"

"I…I don't know. I couldn't tell." I swallow, trying not to look at the mirror across the room. I hadn't realized that my mask was gone until this moment. "She was…uh…"

The Russian laughs, "No need to worry about Gadget. She is a strong one."

Price pats the chair adjacent to his cot. "C'mon, sit down."

"But…" I hestitate, glancing over my shoulder warily at the blue piece of fabric that obstructed my view, wanting to just turn around and whip it open. I couldn't just leave Gadget to suffer. Especially not when she had stayed next to me even though I was barely stable enough to stand and she was bleeding all over herself. She was right there, next to me.

And now I was gonna let a crappy piece of décor keep me away from her.

"Sveta can take care of her."

Although Nikolai's reassurances do little to calm my nerves I plop down in the chair and sigh, rubbing my temples. "It never ends this; bloody garbage." A firm hand rests on my shoulder and I look up to see Price smiling sadly. "I suppose there's some sort of bright side to all of this you plan on opening my eyes to…"

He chuckles, shaking his head, "No, not at all." I raise my eyebrow in request for elaboration. "Merely agreeing with you… It never ends."

I nod, thoughtfully, trying to think of the bright side or if there even is one in this fine little mess we'd made for ourselves. Two countries want our heads on a stake with our eyes gouged out of their sockets, oh and by the way they're the two most powerful countries on the face of the planet, and they just so happen to be launching into a full scale war, that was started by some psychotic extremist and could very soon consume the world. I sigh, trying to grasp what good could come from all of _that_. Sure, we're alive, but with a man hunt going on and thousands of men thirsty for our blood it doesn't seem like much a blessing to me.

My thoughts are interrupted whenever a much shaken Sveta shoves the curtains open and rushes back through the still open doorway. I lift my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gadget to make sure she's all right, but instead I can only see a small lump in the blankets. Yip-ee.

There is a loud scream from the front of the house and Nikolai jumps to his feet and sprints out the door. Price follows him without hesitation.

Of course, I can't seem to stand up without practically falling over, so it takes me a good three minutes to get to my feet. "Bloody, no good, lying, son of a bildge rat's whor—"

The string of curses I was flinging at Shepherd's grave is broken.

My eyes catch the reflection on the mirror. My muscles freeze up. All I can do is stare at the face looking back at me. The same old face stared from the looking glass; blue eyes still cold and distant, though the hair was slightly shaggier it is the same old shade of blond, the same old scar is still haunting my gaze and driving me mad just from the sight of it, and the same old Simon Riley is still waiting around for a chance to mingle in the world. I swallow, gazing at the 'improvements' that had been added on since my last 'adventure'. A burn, just below my left cheekbone, is the most likely to remain for a lengthy amount of time. The usual pattern of scratches and bruises dot my forehead and jawbone; not to mention the laceration along my hairline from the second battle within the house.

Oh god… I almost forgot about the second battle…

Before I can rip my eyes away from the mirror, Sveta is shoving Price and Nikolai back through the door, yelling something along the lines of, 'Stray from this room again, under any circumstance, and that pole will be shoved so far up your – that even the full forces of America and mother Russia combined won't be able to tear it back out of your sorry -!'

She rants for a while on all the violent and torturous things she'll do to them if they ever leave the confines of our little room ever again. Price simply rolled his eyes and sat back down on his cot while Nikolai tried to apologize. "We did not realize we were not permitted out of our room—Wait…Ghost, my friend, are you feeling all right?"

The room had suddenly gotten smotheringly hot and I could feel beads of sweat popping up on my forehead. The reflection seemed to smile deviously at me, waving even though I didn't move my arms at all, and its eyes flash a precise shade of brown. I blink furiously but the image stays, "F-fine."

Sveta shoves Nikolai roughly and ignores his protest as she presses the back of her hand to my forehead. "Hmmm…you _are_ awfully clammy. Perhaps you should lay down."

"No…I…I'm fine…" I mutter, not removing my eyes from the mirror. Sveta's reflection didn't join my own, even though she was in the right position to. I was all alone.

Sveta looks over her shoulder and looks at the mirror, a perplexed expression taking over her features. "Are you sure?"

"…Positive." I'm lying, but I don't care. The reflection laughs silently, waving again.

"Just for a moment, last thing I need is for any one of you to—"

"I SAID I'M BLOODY FINE!" I roar, ripping my eyes away from the mirror and glaring down at the small blonde woman. Her eyes widen and she backs away. My glare doesn't waver until a very angry Nikolai steps between us.

"Are you so stupid that you do not even realize that this woman has saved your life?" He demands, his rough accent becoming even more obvious with thick anger. "We are lucky she did not leave us out to die. You do not even realize that she saved us. We should all be dead! She is risking everything…for a bunch of strangers," He looks back at her and his eyes soften, "And…also an old friend who made a horrible mistake."

I glance at the mirror again, hoping that the reflection will be gone. It's not. I swallow back the need to vomit and look away quickly. "M-maybe I should lay down…the stress is getting to me…" I nod, reassuring myself. "That's what it is…the stress."

**END TRANSMISSION.**

**Soo…uh…did I do something to make you people mad? I must've ruined something so completely that you all hate me now, because among the 200 people who read the previous chapter only one reviewed. Oh-kayyyy…**

**But you know what? Thank you very much to Jacob0392 and VerityA for getting my rear in gear with their messages/review. I appreciate it :)**

**Also, thanks to ecto1b for continuing The Ghost that Haunted Me. It's hardcore awesomeness that you all should be reading!**

**And, as always, reviews would be adored. With such a lack of reviews instead of working on this chapter or planning those soon to come, I; Finished Assassin's Creed, played Nazi Zombies like 40 times, filled a whole notebook with half finished songs, went to the movies several times with he-who-must-not-be-named (not Voldemort), and slacked off in school. To save me from ignoring this story once again, be a dear and hit the review button.**

**Thanks as always =]**

**Lava and Rockets,**

**Gadget.**


	13. What This World Has Come To PART 3 of 3

**(What the World Has Come To)**

**[Third Person POV]**

Sveta white knuckles the USP in her left hand and braces herself against the door frame with her right. She breathed in short pants, trying to slow her racing heart. 'I am too young and too weak to do this, cuss it! I can not take care of so many wanted soldiers at once! Why, oh why, do I even bother?' She sighs, already knowing the answer. 'Because you know it is what is right.' She snorts at the thought. 'It isn't worth turning my sanity into paranoia.

Her morals and personal weakness aside, she knows that the knock on the door would someday be accompanied with a demand for entance and a warrant for arrest…or even her death. Too many times she'd let herself get into this kind of situation. Too many times she'd been standing in the face of danger because she was too kind spirited to send them out of her way.

So, yet again, here she stands.

"It is like being pinned between a rock and a hard place." She mutters, slowly making her way to the door and sliding the slot open a fraction of an inch. "Who is there?"

"Sveta, it is Sean who is also very cold and tired." Recognizing the accent of her closest friend Sveta peeked through the slot to make sure he was alone and then pulled the heavy hatch off of the door. The moment it opens a very snowy Sean staggers in. "It isn't fit for a man ta be out in weather like tha'."

"What took you so long?" Sveta demands, hands on her hips with the pistol safely holstered at her side. "I was getting so worried! You know I can not handle situations like this very well. The British man frightened me so horribly that I thought for sure I would go into cardiac arrest! And then the girl—"

"What did the Brit do?"

She shakes her head. "He is mentally unstable, Sean. You knew that from when Terrance brought him in. Traumatized, that is probably it."

"I can't help but notice that you didn't answer my question." Sean points out suspiciously. Ever since he met her he knew that Sveta was too kind to others for her own good. She wasn't a very strong person then, and she still wasn't able to handle the stress of danger well. But she does well with what little bravery she has.

Sveta avoids eye contact and leads Sean into the back room, pushing the hidden door open and entering. "Good morning, boys."

Nikolai is the only one to acknowledge their entrance. "Good morning, Sveta and Sean." The curtain had been parted and all three of the other men are talking quietly, gathered around the Scot's bed so he can be a part of the conversation. The woman is still asleep.

"Any problems while we were away?" Sean asks, ignoring the oblivion act from the others.

The Russian shakes his head. "No, but it is good you are back, my friend. I think they wanted to speak to you and Sveta about our arrangements here."

"That will have to wait." Sveta insits, pushing by him and going over to the brunette's bedside.

Sean chuckles and whispers to Nikolai, "So ya still haven' won 'er back yet?"

"Cuss off!"

Sean chuckles at a deeply annoyed Nikolai. He always hated it when Sean brought up Sveta's poorly hidden anger. He doesn't do it to spite the Russian, just to remind him of his place. Sveta avoids the topic entirely. Instead, she focuses on the wounded soldier on the cot before her. The bruise on the woman's face had become a sickly yellow color around the edges and it's still swollen. All the scratches had scabbed over and her temperature had flown up over night. When Sveta turns the blankets down she has to keep herself from recoiling at the sight of the soiled bandages. The woman has burns all along her forearms and knife wounds on her lower abdomen and legs. "Sean, can you go watch the door? This is going to take a while."

"Sveta, no one is coming to fi—"

"I said," Sveta glares at him darkly, "Go. Watch. The. Door." Sean gives her one last annoyed look before slipping out of the 'infirmary' and into the main living space. The other four men look up at the nurse in question. "You," She points at the eldest one with a mustache. "Help me with this." When he began to argue she held up a hand to silence him. "You are clearly a soldier; you know field medicine, you will help." The man gave the others a shrug before joining Sveta at the woman's bedside.

Before her new assistant can speak or give any reaction to his friend's condition she begins issuing orders. "There are several cold compresses in the top cabinet in the corner. Fetch me one." He obeys the command without question, depositing the compress in her waiting hand. She presses it tenderly to the woman's bruised cheek. "Now in the second lowest drawer on that wall are three packages of gauze and bandages. Bring them here and then hold this compress in place." She turns to Nikolai, "You get out my disinfectant and gloves. They are still next to the sink." He simply nods, already accustomed to taking her random orders, and hurries off to collect the items.

Through all of this the British man slowly draws closer to the cot, eyes never leaving the broken girl's face. Sveta doesn't even notice him until he is standing over the girl. At first, the nurse opens her mouth to rebuke the man for standing so close, but then she sees the softness in his eyes. His fingers gently trace over the pale skin of the woman's hand, up her wrist, and to the burns; his fingers touching so lightly that he doesn't disrupt the injuries. He frowns, thoughtful and troubled. Slowly he lets his eyes wander over the wounds, frown deepening and becoming diluted with sorrow.

Sveta remains silent the whole time he gazes at the sleeping woman. She had never seen such a transaction between her patients. Of course, on occasion she had seen a pair of best friends torn apart or a man lose the woman he loved and vice versa. But she'd never seen anyone so full of pain when there was still hope. The woman was not dead. Wounded, yes, but the chances of her recovering were still vast. Why did he seem like she was broken beyond repair?

The man's hand works its way all the way to her shoulder and then her cheek, tracing along what small fraction of her face is unscathed. His frown never softens. His fingers finally stray away when the others return with the things Sveta needs. She thanks them and accepts the supplies, lining them up on a small metal cart against the wall. Then she sets to work removing the bloody bandages.

Sveta pulls away the last of the dirtied gauze from her patient's stomach and sets to work cleaning up the smooth rows of stitches that she had constructed the night before. It's tedious work, making sure that the lines are clean without disrupting them too much. As Sveta works, the others watch; Nikolai handing her fresh gauze or the bottle of disinfectant when she needs it, the British man holding the compress on the patient's cheek, and the older man leaning against the wall with a bored, distant air about him. The Scot's medicine had lulled him back to an uneasy sleep.

None of them said a word or made a sound until Sveta broke the awkward silence. "She will not die, if that is what you are afraid of." Carefully, she wraps a long bandage along the girl's midsection, having Nikolai hold her ever so slightly off the cot. There is another prolonged pause as Sveta ties the bandage in place. "I can not imagine what you five went through. If it was important enough for Nikolai to come along than it must have been quite the tale."

"You could say that." The older man nods a little.

The Brit shakes his head. "You wouldn't believe us if we told you."

"And I do not expect to know." She shrugs. "None of my patients need to reveal themselves or even give me a name." She turns down the blankets more and sets to work on the girl's outer right thigh. A long gash had made a mess on Sveta's sheets from the night before and she had to use half a container of bleach to get it all out. Laundry was always, in her opinion, the worst part of the job. Sveta glances up at them and smiles teasingly; "Although a name would be better than girl, Brit, Nikolai, Scot, and old man."

"I am not old."

"Do you mind if I introduce you?" Nikolai asks apprehensively. He knows that his allies won't be so quick to trust any outsiders any time soon, even with his word that they wouldn't turn the soldiers in. The British man raises an eyebrow. "First names only then," He says in agreement. "Well, Sveta this is Simon," He points to the Brit, who nods in her direction, "John," The old one lifts his cap a bit. "Emily," He points to the motionless woman on the cot, "And John."

"John one and John two," Sveta snickers. "I will try to keep that straight."

$^#$*&#$%^%$%^#$&#$%^#$%#

"Will she wake up soon?" Simon asks impatiently.

"She will wake up when she is strong enough." Sveta answers curtly. For the past hour he's been pestering her. Every ten minutes he asks again and again if Emily is okay and will recover and is Sveta sure she's done everything she can. It's enough to drive someone crazy. Sveta had permitted the other three to go eat in the kitchen while she and Simon took care of Emily and John.

Simon remains silent for a while before growing restless again. "So…you and Nikolai, eh?"

The pencil Sveta has been writing with snaps loudly, the sound amplified by the fact that they are the only two awake in the room.

Her eyes stab into him roughly. "Absolutely not."

"It used to be you and Nikolai then."

She drops the pencil pieces to the floor, anger flaring. "Da." The word comes out like venom, meant to pierce deep and hurt. "Please, go back to the questions about our patient here."

Simon gives up the fight and goes back to looking at Emily. Sveta ignores him for a while, focusing on John's injuries. The extents of this man's wounds are beyond belief. There was little chance that she could do much for him personally. Maybe bribe Terrance to smuggle him to a better facility with false papers? No, that wouldn't work. The door would crash down a day after getting him out. Perhaps she could just get him to a Red Cross as an unidentified civilian caught in a riot? Impossible. From what little Nikolai told her it was clear that the medics there would have pictures and detailed descriptions of all of 'her' soldiers.

John's eyes flutter open tiredly. She smiles a little as he comes to, "How are you feeling?"

"Like hammered horse manure." He mummers, "Everyone else?"

"They are fine. Emily is doing well enough. Simon will not leave her be though. Nikolai and John number two are both doing all right." Sveta pauses awkwardly. "What happened?"

John looks up at her intently. "Do you really think I can answer that?"

"I was hopeful…" She sighs. "But if you can not—"

"Do you happen to have a recent newspaper?"

"Da."

"I'm sure it'll tell you everything in there."

"Everything the world knows," She glares at him, seriousness suddenly permeating her ice blue eyes. "Or the truth?"

"Probably neither." He sighs, wincing when the action earns him white hot pain throughout his chest. "Well, me and the boys already talked. We'll let you in on some of the story."

"That is a start, at least." Sveta nods, dragging a chair over.

"The beginning?"

"Preferably just how this happened." She motions at his mutilated chest. "It seems like the whole story would be a bit superfluous."

"Aye," He chuckles and hides a wince. "I agree." John launched into the story about how frustrating it was for him to listen to a lot of what had happened at the cabin (or at least what he knew). The betrayal of Shepherd's men. How he reached Shepherd…then came the hard parts.

_**[FLASHBACK!]**_

_**[Mactavish's POV]**_

"You're wrong, Shepherd."

Shepherd's eyes meet mine. There's no true emotion in them. No fear. No arrogance. No sorrow. Nothing. Then again that's how they always were.

"You're dead-cussing-wrong. You never gave a single passing glace when one of our own died in the field. You never batted an eye when we were injured. You never cared." I glare hard at him. I shake with the rage and hate I have towards him. All I want in that moment is to be done with everything. But I have to finally say this. I have to finally make it right. "All you ever wanted was to erase your own history. You didn't win your first time around; you failed miserably."

I had never talked back to a superior. Never raised a word of contradiction. Never even tried to go against orders unless it was totally necessary. Even if I didn't agree with a single word an officer said, I obeyed. Now, it's the opposite.

"I always thought that you were the one who would lead the 141 to ending hostility in between Russia and America."

All my beliefs had come crashing down on my shoulders, sending me in a sprawled mess to the ground.

"I always saw you as a great leader."

So many that I trusted had turned on me, guns raised, ready to follow orders they had to know were wrong.

"It didn't matter that you'd _screwed the pooch_ so badly all those years ago."

My team…My best mates were all dead.

"I thought you'd learned from it. Instead…"

Because of him. Because I followed orders I knew weren't quite right, the Intel, the locations, the plans, all of it was a bit off from the begininng.

"Instead it left you a joke! A psycopath! You brought the greatest men in the world under your authority to lead them to death like a flock of sheep to slaughter."

I followed the orders anyways, to be a good soldier, to do as I was told like some blind sheep. I had no idea it could end so badly.

"You were never worth any of my effort."

All those years I'd slaved over becoming a better soldier for Shepherd. For who I was sure would end this war before it began. He could have too.

But he started it.

I lift the knife.

He did what was good for him.

I'll do what's right.

I'll end this.

"And you never will be."

I dive at him, knife in hand and aimed towards his throat. He seems resigned to death for a moment. Like he's finally ready to give up.

How many times can I be wrong in one day?

With reflexes faster than I can react to Shepherd grabs my elbow, bends it backwards painfully and slams my head against the truck's solid metal roof. I practically black out from the blow, staggering back several feet. Before I can grab my knife from the ground the General is upon me again, raining down punches and screaming incoherently about his lost men.

I try to get a hold of his uniform and turn the tides, but my arms won't react. My mind is still in melt-down mode after the wicked bang on the truck.

"This will end," Shepherd shouts. "But in my way. MY. WAY."

I finally get enough sense back, landing one solid punch to his lower stomach.

Again, fate seems to mock me. My fist connects with a bullet proof vest, doing no damage, just giving him enough time to scrabble in the sand and grab my fallen knife.

"You hear me soldier?" The knife comes down and I can't even control myself for a moment. Blood splashes across my cheeks. My own blood. Shepher had stabbed me square in the sternum, tearing through blood vessels and muscle and bone. I bleed fast, the red ooze spurting all over. "This ends…my…way…"

He's panting. I continue to scream and shout and writhe in pain. I can't even make sense of what he's shouting back at me. I think I blacked out for a moment. When I come back around he's standing over me, stuffing a single bullet into his pride-and-joy gun. "You can't live, John." He sneers, pulling the hammer back. "You live, I lose my ending. So, we'll just cut to the chase." The barrel faces my forehead, nearly at point-blank range. "Last words?"

I stare down the barrel's opening, wondering what dying would be like. "Just look at what the world has come to…"

"Beautiful," He grins sadistically, "Isn't it?"

_**BANG!**_

Instinctively I squeeze my eyes shut, resigned to the fact that I am about to die. Instead, a scuffle ensues, the gun flying out of Shepherd's hand and onto the sand near me. I look up, amazed to see Price going head to head with Shepherd. They're locked in a pushing war, hands braced against eachothers shoulders, trying to throw the other off balance and take the advantage.

"Get the gun!" Price yells. I move slightly, crying out when more blood gushes from my wound. "SOAP! GET TO THE GUN!"

I block out the pain and drag myself to the gun, lifting it and aiming at Shepherd. "PRICE!" I bellow, both men looking up.

I pull the trigger, already prepared to give a whoop of victory.

***Click***

"CHRIST IN A HAND BASKET!"

The gun's empty.

Shepherd lands a solid punch to Price's jaw, successfully knocking him to the ground and gaining the upper hand. All I can do is watch, the empty gun resting limply in my hands, the knife gleaming in my chest, the blood….

Wait…

The _**knife**_.

My eyes travel from the fist-fight to my own predicament. The knife is protruding from my rib cage at a near 90 degree angle. It wouldn't be hard…

I look up at the fight again. Somehow Price got back up and is ducking shots from Shepherd.

My hand clumsily closes around the blade's handle. I give an experimental yank, trying hard not to scream in pain and call attention to myself. I pull harder. Sweat beads on my forehead, running down my cheeks. Finally, the blade begins to un-lodge from my chest. I grunt in pain, my eyes squeezing shut from the pure agony. I add my other hand. "C'mon…" The knife pulls more, barely an inch of it left within me. "AUGHHH!" With one final tug the blade is out.

The once gleaming metal is now soaked with my own blood. It drips onto the sand, across my chest, along my arms. Blood mixes with sweat and sand, clinging to my skin uncomfortably.I pant, blinking rapidly to keep from blacking out. The wound bleeds freely now. Without much time, I choose my target.

Shepherd is over top of Price. He just keeps pounding away at his face, even though he's already unconscious. I line up my sights, imagining just where I want the blade to kill him. I have one shot at this.

I throw it as hard as I can.

It all happens so fast I can barely see it all.

The knife hits its mark.

And it's over.

_**[END FLASHBACK]**_

_**[AUTHOR POV]**_

Sveta listens patiently as John recounts the events to her. It amazes her. For someone to trust another human being so much and then be betrayed the way they were was just heart breaking. She glances over at Simon, who has slumped over and fallen asleep, his head resting on Emily's bed. "He was not with you two?"

"No," John shakes his head, sounding tired again. He had spent all of his energy explaining things to Sveta. Though she didn't ask questions or raise objection when he told his tale, just remembering the events of that day was exhausting. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," She smiles. "I have forced you to answer my questions. It will not kill me to answer one of yours."

"How long…How long have we been here?"

"Three days." She sighs, toying leisurely with her platinum blond locks. "You arrived on Friday. It is now Sunday and they are probably missing me at church." The last bit sounded more like a muse to herself than an observation for John's ears, but he hardly notices.

Instead, he's dozing off again. "One last thing Sveta…"

"Yes?"

"If we…If we cause you any trouble…Don't hesitate to kick us out…" And he falls asleep again.

Sveta slips out the door and closes it silently behind her, leaving the three exhausted soldiers to rest. Across the room from where John sleeps soundly, Emily stirs in her sleep. A nightmare has invaded her rest while everyone else in the world is oblivious to her.

_**[GADGET's POV]**_

_**[FLASHBACK-DREAM-THINGY!]**_

"HURRY! THE LZ IS UP AHEAD!"

"But what about—"

"Keep moving she wouldn't want us to stop... not for a body…"

"ROACH! LOOK OUT!"

"HURRY YOU TWO!"

"Thunder-Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the treeline! Standby to engage on my mark!"

"Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by."

"ROACH, HANG IN THERE!"

"C'mon, get up! Get up! Get up! We're almost there!"

"Do you have the DSM?"

"We got it, sir!"

"Right…we tied that one up."

"Good. That's one less loose end."

_**BANG!**_

"NOO! ROACH!"

_**BANG!**_

"You can't do this you S.O.B.!"

"Put them in the ditch. No more loose ends.""I'm…I'm so sorry." I pry the gun away from a very dead Archer and take aim. "Goodbye, sir. Sorry I was never that perfect soldier."

_**Click.**_

…

_**Click.**_

_**Click.**_

_**Click. . Click. .**_

EMPTY.

For a moment I just stand there. The gun seems so heavy; several of Shepherd's men drag Ghost and Roach to a small ditch, throwing them in like two sacks of worthless garbage. One of the younger ones comes forward with a large container of gasoline, turning it upside down and dumping it onto Roach's whole body and Ghost's legs.

I want to look away but at the same time it seems like the scene is a magnet, dragging all of my attention towards it. I have to do something! Anything! I can't stand here while that maniac takes the life of my closest family!

Ghost is down there. Oh god…Ghost. Simon...He thinks I'm dead right now. He thinks that I'm dead. He was always so strong, in spite of everything. I remember how he'd hold me close after a long, treacherous mission. How he'd always make sure I was all right. How he'd grin whenever he would win a hand of poker and pout when I mopped the floor with him. How his eyes would light up when I said 'I love you'. How he'd tease me when I blushed. How he'd scold me for sneaking out of the infirmary, even though he was so glad I was okay. How he'd look when I walked in to visit him when he was hurt…

The clicking sound of the empty gun echoes in the back of my mind, refusing to leave me be. Sorrow chokes me. Pain paralyzes me. Shame deafens me. But I can see clearly…Too clearly.

Shepherd steps up to the ditch. Carelessly, he tosses his lit cigar onto Roach's chest, gazing down at the flames as they crawled over my family's bodies. He turns away, pulling another cigar off of his belt and stepping onto a helicopter. As one the Helios take off.

Tears flow down my cheeks. I'm hardly aware of my own body as I charge down the steep incline, barely able to keep my balance on the shifting rocks. Air rushes in and out of my lungs as I stagger through the field and up to the inferno. The heat is blinding as I draw closer, not even stopping to thing.

I kneel down and grasp on to the jacket of one of the figures in the flames. I drag them out, somehow ignoring the agony in my arms and shoulder, and away from the fire. I gaze down at the masked face. "Oh god!" Clumsily I pull off the singed balaclava and sunglasses. I feel for a pulse, rewarded by finding a strong blood-vessel in his neck. He was alive. "Oh god…Don't die on me now…"

I realize that if I had Ghost, Roach was still in there. "HANG IN THERE ROACH!" This time the pain and heat and smoke are too much for me. I scream and grit my teeth in agony. I feel around blindly, begging God to let him be okay. Finally, my fingers close around his shoulder and I pull hard, yanking him to safety. "Stay with me…c'mon…stay with me!" I pat out the flames on his uniform, tears still falling. He isn't breathing. Tears turn to sobs as I press my fingers to his throat. I try to find a pulse in several different spots. "NO! OH GOD!" Roach, my little brother…he's dead.

I struggle to my feet and leave the corpse, approaching Ghost. He's laying still, breath slowing. I slap him hard, hoping to bring him back around. "Don't leave me out here...not alone…you promised…" I cry harder, slapping him again.

His eys snap open, meeting my own. "G-Gadget?"

"I'm right here Ghost…Right here…" I assure him. I can hear a helicopter in the distance. "We have to go... Can you stand?" He nods. "All right." I help him into a sitting position. "Let's go."

The walk to the safe house takes a hundred million years. I can barely stand anymore; it's all too real now. Shepherd…He…Everyone…

Nothing makes sense anymore. This can't be real. This is all a dream. Some kind of sick nightmare…it has to be. They can't all be dead. They can't…

Then we pass Ozone. He's just laying there…face up in the dirt. He's so dirty, nothing like I remember him. Broken and bruised and beaten…dead. Ghost looks away, trying to hide my eyes. I look on the scene though, trying to absorb the facts…dead.

Ghost looks at me as he half-carries me to the house, opening his mouth to say something.

"Not now…later…just not now…" I beg. I don't trust myself to explain how I feel or how I'm alive or how I had the strength to get down to him. I don't even know how I did any of that! Nothing makes sense. This isn't real.

We make it to the kitchen at a snail's pace; Ghost lifts me onto the counter and sets to work. He takes a knife to my destroyed jacket and unclasps my Kevlar vest. After an eternity of him stitching me up in silence I find my voice. "I…I tried Ghost…" The air stops in my throat and the words turn into sobs. "I really did try…"

"Shhhhhhh, it's all right love," He shushes me calmly and for a second I'm angry with him. How can he just stand there and care for me when Shepherd had just destroyed us?

"No…it isn't…I…I…" I shake my head, unable to find words, unable to explain myself.

"Easy…" He coes, hugging me against his chest. I push him away. I don't want sympathy right now. I pat the counter and Ghost takes his turn being a patient. I dig out the bullet in his shoulder, ignoring the death-grip he keeps on my shoulder. The silence is killing me slowly. I hate it. Silence is natural between us any other time, but now…

This is different.

Tears pierce through my eyes as I let the images of my dead teammates flash through my mind's eye. Scarecrow clinging to my vest and Toad bleeding even in death and Archer talking to me as he took his final breath are the most prominent. "What…what just happened to us, Ghost?"

"Oh Gadget… Shhh…" Ghost pulls me against himself again, remaining on the counter top. I feel so desperate. So useless, scared, alone; even in his arms I'm afraid. Ghost's arms had always been my safe place. Now…

This is different.

"It's going to be okay, love."

"No it isn't." I start to shake, just like after every other mission. "We're going to die out here." He tightens his grip, trying to keep me safe from everything. "Mactavish and Price are dead in a desert somewhere." I'm falling apart now. "They hunted Nikolai down and killed him in cold blood."

"Don't say things like that…"

"Why not? They're all dead, Simon, dead! All of them…are dead… Toad and Archer are soaked in their own blood in their hide. We passed Ozone on our way in. Scarecrow is right in the room next to us! That new kid…Harley…he's out in the field! We don't even cussing _know _what Bishop looks like anymore after that RPG got him!"

"There was nothing we could've done. We didn't know—"

I shove out of Ghost's arms and glare at him, hugging myself and rubbing my arms slowly. I feel like yelling at him. Screaming and throwing my arms in the air and running outside and away from this horrible place until I just collapse. "Nothing we could've done?" For the first time I see something other than support in his eyes. Now there's fear. Terror even. "It's my fault Roach is dead…if I would've been faster." I don't feel sorry for myself. I hate myself. I'm so angry I could tear myself apart. To make all this pain stop; I'm going mad, aren't I?

Ghost stares. He doesn't say anything for a breathless minute. He only stares.

I turn my back to him, trying to keep a lid on my emotions. I can't hang on any longer though. Everything I'd come to love had been pulled away from me. My home is probably reduced to ashes right now. Alex died. My best friends are all dead. Odds are: Ghost and I will be soon too.

I can hear him groan as he drags himself off of the counter and stands behind me, gently wraps his arms around me, and rests his chin on my shoulder. I press my cheek to his.

_Get a hold of yourself, Gadget._ I tell myself, _you're still alive. Ghost is still alive. Odds are against you, but maybe you can still get through this. _I swallow back a bit of despair as Ghost speaks.

"I'm sorry this happened…" It sounds like Ghost is choking on the words. "And I'm sorry they're dead. But there's nothing any of us could've done. But it was a freak accident. We couldn't have seen Shepherd plotting to kill us."

"I watched the whole thing from my hide, Simon. I had Shepherd in my cussing sights the whole time!" I cling to the sides of my head as the clicking noise begins to echo around me again. "I went to take the shot and….and…"

Ghost spins me around and gazes into my eyes intently. "Listen to what I say right now. This is not your fault in any way, Emily." He shakes my shoulders, desperation seeping into his actions. . "There was nothing you could've done. Let's say you would've made the shot and killed Shepherd. What then? It wouldn't have changed anything."

This thought strikes me hard. For a long time all I can do is stare at Ghost, slack-jawed. It may be 10 minutes, or a decade, or a year, or an eternity that we stand like that. It doesn't matter now; it's too late for words. It's too late for action. It's too late to get a clue.

I realize, in that moment, that no matter what I try to do, say, or believe nothing is going to change the past. I'm going to have to deal with it in one way or another. I can't sit around and feel sorry for myself or anyone else. That won't fix anything.

Words won't erase the past.

Action can change things, but ghosts of what happened will always be there.

I feel every wall I'd ever created for any emotion crumbling. I want Ghost to look me in the eyes and tell me everything will be all right. I want him to take me by the shoulders again and lie to my face. I want him to be strong enough to deal with another betrayal on top of everything that has ever happened to him. I want him to be sane enough to handle me even whenever I've come off the hinges.

But my wants aren't realized. He's human, just like me. He's hurting, just like me. He needs me, just like I need him.

Suddenly, Ghost's breathing rate increases.

"Ghost?"

He slumps against the counter, gasping for air and breaking out in a thick sweat.

"Ghost?"

He groans, putting his face in his hands and muttering something unintelligible. Ghost's shoulders begin to shake and now I'm really scared. Ghost dry heaves, I just can't take it anymore. "GHOST!"

He lifts his face to meet my eyes. I want to reel back and cover my eyes so I didn't have to see. Ghost's eyes were far off, like he was in a different world, and his face was pale and drawn back. It scared me. Ghost was supposed to be stronger than all of us, able to withstand anything.

But he's not.

He's only human.

He's just like me.

Scared, abandoned.

He needs me to be strong too…

Just like I need him.

I step forward slowly, tears half blinding me. Hesitantly, I put a hand on his shoulder. Then I pull him away from the counter and wrap my arms around his torso, whispereing "I'm sorry."

For a second he stands still and rigid as if he were only a statue. I try to hold back tears and hug him tighter.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I say it a little louder this time. When there's still no response from Ghost I continue. "I'm sorry I'm trying to force you to be stronger than you are for me. It's selfish and wrong and stupid and mean of me to do. This has to be even harder for you. You've faced this so many times. Now I know how you felt every time it happened.

"It's like being empty. I can't even fathom that four hours ago we were with out best friends…our family joking around about who was the better shot and teasing the new guy and giving Scarecrow a hard time about taking pictures of us. Everything was like you said." I lean my forehead against his chest. "It was just another mission.

"It really didn't hit me until I got up to Archer and Toad's hide. I thought…I thought they were out of ammo or something…maybe they needed a spotter so both could shoot at once. Up till then I felt like everyone would be fine, even Scarecrow and Ozone who died on my watch. It wasn't all real until I saw Toad…on…" I'm choking up badly, barely able to blubber out the words. "On that boulder…he..His…"

Ghost's arms settle around me, coming back to the real world a bit. "He didn't even look like himself anymore…he was all bloody and mangled and… Archer was going into shock…" Though his arms remain limp I can tell that Ghost is coming back around now and he's listening intently. "Then they were both gone…I couldn't do anything to help...

"I'm sorry." I finish, unable to go on.

We simply stand there for a long while. The silence is natural again, comforting, loving. Ghost is calming down more and I can think straight again. This is all so unfair. Why did we have to suffer whenever we didn't do anything to deserve it. Ghost has paid his dues time and time again. He shouldn't have to face all of this. From his early life to his SAS days to his first betrayal to his family's death to his lose of sanity to this… I don't know how he does it. I feel insane after once.

Ghost sighs slowly, lowering his chin to rest on the crown of my head. "Oh Emily," He murmers, swaying me back and forth gently. "Just look at what the world's done to us."

**349285-2093845-2093485**

**Welllllll, the good news is that chapter was twice as long as most.**

**The bad news is my 'little cough' that I've had for the past 4 or 5 weeks finally dragged me to Med-Express where they put me on lots of medication and basically told me they have no idea what the hell is wrong and I'm in danger of contracting Bronchitis. -_-**

**The even WORSE news is that if I do get Bronchitis I may be out of the musical. Dang.**

**Please review and stuff, I've had a real crummy week and they'd be lovely.**

**But ya know. You could not review and ignore me…I guess that works too.**


	14. The Second Battle

**[ACCESS COMPTER MAINFRAME]**

**{ACCSESS Denied}**

**[RUN SOLDIER LOCATION SYSTEM]**

**{ACCESS Denied}**

**[LOAD PRGRM. TROJAN33491023]**

**(RUNNING TROJAN33491023)**

**(ESTIMATED RUNTIME; 6.586 hours)**

**(STANDBY)**

**[GADGET'S POV]**

**[FLASHBACK MODE STILL]**

"Just look at what the world's done to us."

Ghost's words echo incessantly in my head. The truth of them is so obvious. It isn't my fault or his fault. We were just caught up in one of the cruelties in life. We were powerless to stop it…well; I guess we still are powerless…helpless. I lift my head away from his chest to look Ghost in the eye. Without his mask on, it's so obvious. All the scars are still there, all the pain remains, all the longing and desertion and suffering is spread out for the whole world to see. It's so obvious for anyone to look at him and see that there's so much hurt beyond the mask and his awesome skill. There's still humanity and emotion.

I find myself wondering what Ghost sees when he looks down at me. I've had many people tell me that my emotions are impossible to read. Everyone could tell that I'd built up proverbial walls to keep all the emotion out. Everyone said I was like a rock, ready for anything and unyielding and unreadable. Was that still there? Does Ghost still look down to see eyes that revealed nothing and a resolve that's impossible to shatter? Shepherd had taken my soul and shook it to the very core, destroying it and bits and pieces of me in the process.

The world had gone from a place where I was finally fully accepted by people I cared about and it all made sense. I was safe and happy and everything was there. I had all I ever needed. Alex was waiting for me back home and Ghost was there for me and I was on my way to being a great soldier and I was happy…

Why is it all gone now?

Why would God tear it all away?

If there's a reason for everything then where's the reason in this?

How is this fair?

Ghost reaches for my cheeks and with a delicate touch wipe off the tears that have halted there. I finally find my own voice. "This isn't fair." He doesn't react to my words other than a slight twitch of his mouth. "How could someone do this?" I demand. I want answers dammit!

"It's life, Emily!" Ghost says harshly, "It's never fair."

I open my mouth to respond when there's a distant shout.

"Awe, hell…" I mutter, wiping my face clear of tears.

Ghost is three steps ahead of me, his hand closing around a silenced pistol on the counter. "Stay." He mutters, rounding the corner without another sound and slipping behind the stairwell. I glance around the kitchen.

Oh joy, no weapons left.

I peek around the corner and into the living room, spotting Ghost in a heartbeat. He's in the corner next to the door. "Stay." He mouths and hurries through the splintered opening.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right." I say for my own benefit and limp over to the weapons stash in the hallway. Nothing's silenced. Shit. I stagger into the next room, eyes hunting for something…anything I can use. A kitchen knife rests in the hands of a dead Russian man who is slumped over one of the wooden chairs. Remorse doesn't even try to come up to the top of my mind as I yank the knife away from the corpse and shove it out of my way.

There's work to do.

By now I can hear the intruders' footsteps on the front stairs, along with the rustling of their equipment and clicks of ammo being slammed into guns. I wonder if they've already gotten Ghost. I duck into one of the corners, calming my nerves by breathing unnaturally slow.

The first man I see is a scrawny man in his early twenties. Close-cut, dark hair sticks out beneath his black ski-hat. He's armed to the teeth; a silenced Glock in one hand and a PP2000 in the other. An assortment of knives are connected to his belt, along with ammunition belts and several frag grenades. I'm sure he has a pistol or two concealed beneath his vest.

He isn't alone though. I shrink deeper into the corner, keeping out of their sights. I count five men. Two are armed as heavily as the first and two are carrying C4 bricks the size of my head. Clearly the first man is in charge because he points to the others and rambles something in a commanding tone. I don't catch all of the Russian dialect, but I do understand 'This place better not be standing, or anyone in it.' Three men file out, leaving one who is heavily armed and one with the C4.

Now or never. I lunge out of my hiding spot unsteadily, tackling the closer man to the floor and scuffling at his throat with my knife. He screams and I try to muffle the sound with my hand. In one swift motion I shove my knife deep into his neck and pull it back out.

The other man lifts his hand to key into his comm. and call for help. I throw the already bloody knife at him. It sinks into his shoulder and sends him to the floor. I stagger to my feet, panting and shaking. I stumble over to him as he struggles to loosen the knife from his flesh. I get over him, punching at his face and trying to unarm him. He grabs a knife from his belt and slashes my cheek. I howl in pain, punching harder. My hands go to his throat, squeezing and pressing down on his windpipe. He gasps and gargles incoherently, staring into my eyes like a helpless animal. I watch as his life slowly and painfully leaks out of him. With one last defeated groan, he dies.

I'm shaking. I let go of his throat like it's on fire, disgusted. Blood drips down my face and along my neck. I had killed a man with a clean bullet to the forehead at point blank rage. Countless men had fallen to a knife in my hand. Firefights had me taking the lives of dozens at once. I had even strangled a man with a telephone wire once. But I've never, in all my years in the army, killed a man with my bare hands.

That is, until a few moments ago.

A gunshot rings out in the quiet of the mansion. I perk my head up. Ghost.

I clamber off of the corpse and towards the door, panting heavily. There are shouts coming from downstairs, echoing up from the staircase. All of them are in Russian and I can hardly keep track of the screams. Gunshots are coming at a higher rate now. I'm dizzy from my injuries and tired from the fight.

But I know Ghost needs me, at least for a while longer. Just like I need him.

I go back and snatch the SMG off of the man I'd killed with my bare hands and the C4 from the still bleeding man. My breath comes heavily, seeping in and out of my lungs. Everything hurts.

But I ignore my own aches and pains, clomping down the stairs. Ghost is pinned against the wall, receiving blow after blow to his gut from a Russian man who is screaming like a wild monkey. I fire a burst into the attacker's head and shove him away.

Ghost coughs heavily. "I told you…to stay."

"Didn't think I would, did you?" I smile, "Come on. It isn't safe here."

"Where the hell are we supposed to go, Emily?" He demands, sounding angry again. Before I can answer a frag-grenade tumbles down the stairs. We take off in the opposite direction. "It's not like we can just show up at your old house," We dodge several bullets and he pulls me into the bathroom at the end of the hall. "Knock on the door," The corner of the doorframe is chewed apart by the hailstorm of bullets being slung into it, "And stay there for the rest of our lives. They'll find us no matter where we go."

One of the Russians shouts loudly and hurls another grenade into our hiding spot. I scoop it up and throw it down the hallway with as much force as I can manage in my condition. "We don't have to go home, but we can't stay here."

"What do you suggest?" He demands, taking my gun and dropping to one knee, firing at the oncoming men.

I think for several moments, chewing my lip. Maybe… "I need to make a phone call."

"What?"

"I have a…friend who owes me a favor."

"Should I be jealous?" Ghost teases, chuckling quietly.

I blush fiercely. "No, it isn't like that, we—"

"DUCK!" Ghost flings himself at me, pinning my back to the wall and covering our heads with his arms. Dirt and debris rain down on us. The ceiling begins to crack and the supports of the foundation groans. "We have to get to the other side of the house, it's gonna collapse down on us over here."

"You'd think that with all the money he has Makarov could invest in a more sturdy hideout."

"It's seeing its fair share of wear and tear today." He notes, grabbing my hand and charging through the door. The house creaks loudly and several of the beams begin to splinter and groan. "Looks like our 'friends' are falling back too."

Several of the terrified men are staggering up the stairs, trying to save themselves from being crushed. We fell in line behind them, Ghost popping shots into them every few steps. I wheeze, trying to breathe steadily. Ghost grabs my hand and tows me along, trying to keep me from falling behind. My ribs burn, my legs tighten in protest to each step, and my arm muscles begin to lock up.

"Come on, come on!" Ghost urges, pulling a little harder and speeding up. I stagger along, keeping up as best as I can. Everything hurts. "Don't stop, keep running, go, go, go!"

I force my legs to keep moving. Keep going, keep going…I have to keep going. Ghost glances over his shoulder at me, eyes wide and worried. "MOVE!" He gives my arm one last yank, pulling me away from the splintering rooftop. The ceiling gives one last crunching sound before crashing down in a mess of boards and tiles from the kitchen floor. For a second, everything is silent. Ghost and I stand completely still, our ears straining for a sign, a sound…anything to let us know if the Russians are still here.

Then it's clear as a bell. "KILL THEM!" Though my Russian vocabulary is limited, I hear the order loud and clear.

Bullets rain down on us from all angles, swishing in from the other side of the kitchen and the foyer. "GET UPSTAIRS!" A shove steers me towards the stairs and I run as quickly as I can stand.

I spin around when I reach the top floor, fumbling clumsily with my Glock. I aim shakily down the stairs, waiting for a Russian to stumble by. Before I get my chance a man lunges at me from the bathroom, tackling me to the ground and drawing his knife. I scream trying to lift my gun. He punches my jaw and slashes my thigh roughly. Howling in pain I pump three bullets into his face, closing my eyes tight.

I push the body away. Mind hazy and arms shaking, I try desperately to sit up. Blood gushes from my wound. I press a trembling hand to the gash, biting down on my lip to keep from groaning. Everything hurts.

No time to waste though, there's still danger around. I clasp my gun and drag myself to the edge of the stairs. I take aim and fire. They all fall. I reload and wait, still aiming even though I don't need to. Ghost slowly enters the foyer, gun out in front of him and raise. "Clear." He mutters darkly.

I pant quietly. He climbs the staircase, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Bloody hell."

"Literally." I add, rolling over and applying more pressure to the wound. "Give me your phone."

"That isn't safe."

"Safer than staying here." I argue and hold out my hand.

"Gadget…" He pauses, reluctantly. "Maybe we should think about this more…"

"We don't have time. Give." I order. He hesitantly unzips one of his vest's pockets and extracts his satellite phone. Slowly, he deposits the phone in my outstretched hand. "Thank you." I dial the number quickly, praying that it still belonged to whom it did 5 years ago.

"Can I ask who this mystery friend is?" Ghost kneels next to me, cutting away my pant-leg.

I hold up a hand to silence him. Dear God, please let it be him, please. If it isn't I don't know what I'll—"Hello?"

"Steven?"

-2458903-0945823-094852-0

**OOOOHHHHHHHHH! For those of you who don't recall, Steven Hawkins was a character from my first big project, where it all begins. He was the movie star who became infatuated with Gadget on a guard mission. He promised Gadget a favor for saving his life.**

**All riiiiiight! I just had an eight-hour musical practice. (Don't ask, it was terrible.) I could really use some reviews because I am stuck.**

**Special thanks to ****ecto1B****. You're review was exactly what I'm looking for. You were worried about it being too harsh/offensive and yet I practically danced with joy for some critical advice. I will take your review seriously, keeping to Gadget's POV for most of the time and only switching when totally unavoidable. Thank you sooooooo much for that, I needed it. :D**

Please review. Or something. Please?


	15. Define 'We'

**[SEARCHING Files]**

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**{INPUT: SRG. Emily 'Gadget' Robins}**

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**{INPUT: 1SG Emily 'Gadget' Robins}**

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**[ACCSESS DENIED]**

"Steven? Steven Hawkins?"

Ghost smirks at me, jokingly raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, this is he. May I ask who's calling?"

I bit down on my lower lip, mauling over what to say. "It's Gadget…" Silence. "Y'know, Emily Robins. We met five years ago at—"

"Emily!" Steven cuts me off, sounding more excited to hear from me than surprised. "Of course, how could I forget? You did save my life after all."

"Yes well, it was a team effort." I try to fight off a blush, knowing full well that Ghost will tease me for that later. He remains silent for the time being, tenderly attending to my wounds.

"Modesty," Steven chides. I roll my eyes. Same old Steven. "What can I do for you? That crazy team of yours ready for another easy job?"

I wince as Ghost pulls out his knife and begins to peel away my bloody pant-leg, cutting away the worthless material so he could clean the injury more thoroughly. He kisses the knuckles on my freehand apologetically and then he returns to work. "Not exactly," I hesitate. How the hell am I supposed to word this delicately? "You see; we're in a bit of a jam."

"Define 'we', where, and how and I may be able to help you out."

"The 'where' would be on the Georgian-Russian border."

Steven whistles softly, "That's a far way out there. I'm in America myself."

I swear quietly as Ghost pulls off another flap of cloth. He gives me an apologetic look, kissing my cheek. "Sorry, love."

"Who was that?" Steven asks.

I blush deeper. Ghost smirks and shrugs, silently saying 'You're on your own, kid.' "It's Ghost. You remember, I'm sure, the scary bloke with the skull-face." Said scary bloke pouts and I stick my tongue out at him.

"Right, the one that threw you off of the snow-mobile."

"Exactly."

"Hmm." Steven muses. "Just the two of you?"

"Yes."

"Should I be jealous?"

Now my cheeks are the color of lava and I feel twice as flustered. Ghost glances at me, chuckles, but leaves well enough alone. I dodge the question, stammering out our co-ordinates after being re-assured that Steven's phone is secure. "The how is a bit beyond a telephone call." I admit. After a long, awkward pause Steven asks:

"Are you both injured?"

"Define injured."

"Wounded in anyway."

"Then I would say yes, very injured."

"Could you hold out for more than 2 more days?"

I look down at Ghost's bloody hands and burned arms. "Hell no."

Steven swears softly and mutters something about the impossible things he does for women. "All right. I won't be able to do it personally, but I have a close friend that would be able to handle the situation within twelve hours."

"Close?" My eyes narrow, "How close?"

"Close enough to know that they will pick you up without asking questions. They'll also bring you to a secure location where you'll be taken care of." He assures me. Ghost holds his hand out for the phone. I shake my head, scooting away. He shuffles on his knees to get closer, reaching for the SAT. I shake my head again, leaning further, putting my hand on the front of his Kevlar in a weak effort to keep the phone in my own possession. Steven continues, "I'll send an encoded message to him. He'll make it there within the next 8 hours. If not, I suggest you find a good place to wait out for a few days."

"What's this guy's name?"

"Afraid I can't tell you that." Ghost lunges for the phone and I try to roll out of reach, only to have him catch my hip and snatch the phone from my grasp. I growl at him and scrabble for the phone, helpless to stand.

"Hawkins. I don't care who picks us up, just make it fast. We don't have time to be sitting around." Ghost says gruffly into the receiver. "Well, I understand, but Ga—Emily isn't exactly in the best condition. Too much longer and we're both gonna die out here."

I shove myself into a sitting position to examine the damage to my legs and body. Blood drips down my cheek, making my face itch uncomfortably. My neck is coated in dirt, blood, and grime from the explosions; my scarf is thick with the muck, rendering it useless as protection. My goggles are so covered I would never be able to see through them. Dust and mud decorate my clothing. I sigh and reach down to touch my bloody knee. Ghost didn't spare my pants. From the knees down they were shredded, completely destroyed. A deep gash is spread across my calves and a chunk of my right thigh is so bloody I can barely see skin. Ghost presses a wad of gauze into this particular area, still listening to Steven's directions. I groan in pain and let my head thud against the wall.

"I know Hawkins, I know but…" Ghost hesitates. "We're bleeding quite heavily and I doubt we'd be able to hold back another wave of these damned wankers." I squeeze my eyelids as tightly as possible. Jumping Jesus, this hurts. "All right. I'm holding you personally responsible if anything isn't right with this guy. I mean it Hawkins." His voice is solid, not allowing any room for misconception. The phone makes a soft snapping sound as he closes it resolutely. "You all right?"

"Peachy…" I mutter, not opening my eyes. Ghost sits down next to me, his arm across my shoulders and pressing me to his body.

"We'll be…" Ghost falls silent. "We'll make it."

"Yes, but to what extent?"

This revelation silences the both of us. It was such a simple thing, to die now. We sat there, in the silence, soaked in our own blood and the blood of our enemies, wondering. So what if we lived? Where could we go? Who could we go to in order to get medical treatment? When would we heal enough to run or even hide? Why would we even try? Is it worth the effort?

The questions buzz in my head annoyingly, bumping into each other, getting the pros and cons all mixed up and only giving me a headache rather than sort out answers. I don't want to die, though I'm thinking realistically. "We're making Steven and some stranger risk their lives for us." I whisper. "Where are we even going?"

Ghost rests his chin on the top of my head. His mask is still off, tucked safely away in my vest pocket. His face is mostly clean, save for the fading bruises of past missions, a thin 5 o'clock shadow, and scars that will never truly be gone. I sigh: partially content to stay like that for hours and rest peacefully, and partially itching to stand up and move. The latter wins though and I sit up. Ghost's arm slides limply off of me as I scoot away. I reach up and use the railing to the stairs as support, heaving myself into a standing position.

"Might as well scrape Scarecrow off the wall." I murmur, mostly to myself. Making my way down the stairs at a sloth's pace, I can see his crumpled up body in the corner nearest to the computer desk. His eyes are closed.

Scarecrow always carried an air of defiance with him. He didn't act out of line, per say, but he was resilient and refused to back down, even if it came down to disobeying orders. As I go through his pockets, I recall the time he convinced Meat to go directly against Shepherd's wishes in order to save a couple of kids from a fire we'd started in town. Although another team from the Task Force had swept the building and confirmed it was empty, they 'forgot' to check the one closet where three children were hiding.

The building had lit up nicely and we had all settled down to watch the flames climb, crack a few beers, and wait for pick-up. It wasn't long before a white blanket was slung out of the topmost window, followed by the arms of a small child. Ghost and I were heading the mission, in charge of Meat, Scarecrow, Worm, Grizzly (who'd been excruciatingly difficult to deal with), and also a young kid from Grizzly's squad named Anvil. He was the first to spot the child. "Look up there!"

Of course we looked. When a rookie like Anvil pointed something out you knew it could be anything. This time, it was a young boy, leaning halfway out of the window, waving his arms, calling out in his own language, begging for help. I looked to Ghost and he shook his head. I ignored him though and lifted the radio to my face. "Bravo this is ground team Charlie, we've got a visual on a child trapped in the building we were assigned."

"Team Charlie, this is Bravo," I recognized Shepherd's voice straight off. I may not known of his betrayal then, but I still didn't join his fan club either. "Just stay put."

More arms joined the first child's. "Sir, there are several children in the middle of a burning building."

"You have your orders, Drill Sergeant. Don't forget what you learned back in the reserves. Follow them now, follow your orders and you're training."

I gritted my teeth. "With all due respect sir—"

"You accept orders. Stay. Put."

"Yes, sir."

Scarecrow was already stripping off his grenade belt and ammunition clips. "I'm going in." He said flatly, pulling on his helmet on.

Grizzly glared at him, "We have orders."

"Yeah, and?" Scarecrow dumped his gun on the ground.

"Well, you can't just march in there on your own."

"Oh don't worry," Meat crushed his beer can in his hand. "He isn't." He stood up too, mimicking the removal of equipment.

Anvil glanced nervously between Ghost and the two men heading towards the building. When they reached the front of the place, he jumped to his feet and joined them, eagerly adjusting his helmet. Grizzly started to order him to stop, but then I stepped in his line of vision. "What were you saying about alone?"

"You can't just let them go in there! Shepherd gave you orders—"

"That's right, Shepherd gave HER orders to stay put." Ghost's skull mask seemed to grin wider. "He never said anything about them." We all knew that isn't how things work, but we didn't care. It was hilarious to watch Grizzly squirm.

Now all I can do is imagine the grin on Scarecrow's face whenever he ran out of that building with a child under each of his arms, Anvil and Meat hot on his heels. I brush the hair out of his face and un-tuck his dog tags. He looked just like he always did…just less. I started to unload his belongings, apologizing silently the whole time. I never did like the feeling of removing a dead person's belongings from their bodies. I don't know why it just feels wrong.

I shake off the willies and carefully extract the digital camera from his vest's pouch. I freeze.

"_Smile pretty now, Gadget!" _

_Laughter._

"_Shut off the damn camera."_

"_The blood on your cheeks is quite becoming, doll, maybe you should work that look more often."_

_More chuckles._

"_Turn. It. OFF!" I'm giggling too, trying to sound angry._

_**Click**__ "Fashion magazine's getting that one for sure!"_

I turn on the camera, waiting for the screen to turn on, waiting to see the faces of my family, alive again. A frozen picture of Ghost and I stares up at me. I look happy. So happy…so sure it was just another mission. I look like the picture of confidence. Just what I wanted everyone to see when they looked at me. Now…now I don't know if I could hold up the charade.

Suddenly it's the picture of Roach and I, standing with our backs to the lens. Then the picture of Archer and Toad, mere specks on their post in the cliff-side, unaware of being photographed. The pictures of the safe-house walls and the pictures and the desks and the computer…

Ghost's hand is so gentle as it settles on my shoulder. "Come on."

"No." I whisper. "We have to bury him. We have to—"

"If we bury him, they'll find us. We have to move now."

"But, Ghost, if we just—"

"No, Emily, we have to go. NOW." His voice is firm and commanding, insistent that I get moving. "We have to get to a safe place while it's still dark."

Dark? I look out the window, deeply confused. How is it already nighttime?

"Come on. Get up." I rise, shakily, to my feet. Ghost loops his arm around my waist, pulling me close and leading me towards the front door. When I start to look back at the remains of one of my best friends his grip tightens. "Don't look back." He whispers. "Don't look back at it." I ignore him, eyes fastened on Scarecrow.

I could say something about how he looked peaceful, even in death. Still the same old Scarecrow. I could claim that looking back at him gave me closure. That seeing him dead gave me peace that he was no longer in pain. All of that would be nice; if he were just sleeping but more than that. It's not like that. I look away. It doesn't matter though, the image is still there. All the blood and gore on his midsection is still there. He's still there. Behind me. Dead.

What I saw there will haunt me forever. Scarecrow will always be what I will think of when I think of Makarov's safe house. It could be Archer or Toad for a moment. But then it'll be Scarecrow. The way his hand closed around my collar as he died. I was the last person to hear him…I witnessed his last breath.

"I told you not to look." He chokes out.

Ghost's grip doesn't loosen as we walk out of the house. I feel numb as we leave everyone behind.

**LALALLALALA!**

**Hello, I'm back :D didja miss me? Of course you didn't.**

**Anyways, WHAT THE HECK? I can't write if I get no drive. I won't get any drive if I get no reviews. RAH!**

**SOOOOO, please pleas please please please please please please please please please…REVIEW! I am literally desperate.**

**Special thanks to ecto1b and all of my anonomous reviews :) I really took all your advice to heart. So keep doin what ya do.**

**EGR.**


	16. Waking Up in My Own Personal Hell

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**(INPUT passkey; ********)**

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**[WELCOME General Shepherd]**

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**(SEARCH: All Files)**

**[FIND?]**

**(ALL Files; Emily Robins)**

**{SEARCHING…}**

**{…}**

**{…}**

**{ERROR}**

**[**_**Emily Gadget**__**Robin**_**s's Files are CLASSIFIED]**

**[Continue?]**

**{{GADGET'S POV}}**

**[Waking Up in My Own Personal Hell]**

Light sears my vision as I blink my eyes open. Shapes are blurred from my extended sleep and all I can manage to focus on is one person. A tall, muscular, handsome and scarred man who is staring at the wall, eyebrows knit together in deep thought, and rubbing his bandaged arm. His blonde hair is clean, his chin shaven, his entire face exposed to me.

We're alive. This realization washes over me like a waterfall. We're still alive! I blink rapidly, trying to get my vision clear, but I can still only make out Ghost amongst the fuzziness. His eyes are dim and dark purple bags have collected under his eyes. It makes me wonder how long he's been waiting for me to wake up. He hasn't been sleeping either. I open my mouth to speak, "S-Simon?"

Those eyes travel over to me in less than a heart-beat. Misty blue meets dark brown and in a flash he's next to me. "Emily," Gentle fingers run along my cheeks, through my hair, beneath my chin. He examines every millimeter of my face, like he can't get enough. I look up at him, his eyes still alight with concern and happiness, but I can see that it's still my Ghost, afraid. His lips come to mine, hungrily yet controlled, and he attacks my forehead and temples with feather-light kisses.

"Ghost," I whisper softly, reaching up and touching his face. He's real. He's alive. Tears gather in my eyes.

I suddenly become vaguely aware of four other men in the room. I must be dead! Nikolai is standing RIGHT THERE in front of me. Next to him is Captain Price. Tears glaze over my eyes. This is heaven huh? They seem to have noticed the affectionate way Ghost greeted me, because Price is fiddling with his hat and Nikolai is suddenly interested in the pattern of the concrete floor

"Oh my gawd," I wave to them, grinning broadly. "I'm in heaven."

"No offense, lass." A Scottish voice from a cot across the room calls. "But I sure as hell hope heaven is betta' than this."

I burst into tears, causing Ghost to step away from me quickly, Nikolai to get interested in the floor a bit, and Price rolls his eyes. I feel over the moon with joy. Mactavish, my captain, my father-figure in a world where I had none, one of my best friends and mentor, is fucking alive! I try to force myself into a sitting position to see him better, desperate to confirm that he was real, that we were really in the same room. Ghost gently forces me back.

"N-no, I gotta see 'im, I gotta see 'Tavish…" I ramble, weakly trying to slip out of Ghost's grasp and get off the cot.

"No, Emily. You need rest."

I giggle, reaching up and ruffling his hair. "Simon…Simon Riley…Hmmmm… What rhymes with Simon?"

"Uhhh…"

I snicker, sounding a little drunk. "I feel fineeee, Simon Rileyyy. I feel good." I blink lazily. "I wanna see 'Tavish."

Nikolai chuckles, "At least we know that the pain killers are assisting her spirits."

Ghost realizes the awkward proximity between us and steps back a few inches, eyes not leaving my face.

"Where…Where are we?" I reach up to rub my eyes, only to have an IV tub limit my movement. I grumble at the uncomfortable tugging and rest my hand against my forehead. "It's bright."

"We are at my friend's safe house. We will be safe here for a while."

"Nikolaiiiiiii~" I sing (off-key of course), "He's got himself so many friends~ Hey, Nikolai~ Why you got so many friends?~~"

Ghost and Price exchange grins at my behavior and Nikolai heads for the door. "Though I am touched by your song, Emily, I believe you should be checked on by our medic now."

"Bye~~" I wave happily. The I call to Mactavish. "Hey, captain! You all right?"

"I'll be right as rain soon enough, don't ye worry."

I frown, again trying to sit up. "Imma come see you."

"Don't even bother, lassie, they've got us tied down better than they did back at the base."

"Curse you!" I shout at Ghost, who is again holding me to the bed. I struggle beneath his grip, trying to free myself and stretch my legs. "I'm fineeeee. I promise!"

"No, you are not." Another hand rests on my shoulder. It belongs to a fair-haired woman who I estimate to be in her late-20s-early-30s. Her blue eyes glare at me frostily, and at the same time they seem to be gently assessing how hurt I am.

"Who's she?" I blurt out rudely, halting my escape attempt for the moment.

"I am Sveta."

"So?"

"I am the one taking care of you. This is my home." She motions at the room, which consists of medical equipment, a few cheap blue curtains, and cement walls and floors.

"Cozy." I comment, chuckling at my own joke.

She laughs lightly too and takes my wrist in her hand, checking my pulse. "Tell me, Emily, are you feeling any pain?"

Am I feeling any pain? "Why would I feel any pain?"

Sveta and Nikolai share a strange look. "Tell me, Emily, do you remember being in a fight?"

"With Grizzly?"

Ghost steps forward. "Don't you remember…the estate?"

I feel cold. Black spots flurry around in my vision and I begin to shake, my heart pulsing loudly in my ears. My breath comes in shakily and flows out in uneven huffs. I try to talk, but tears choke up my throat and all sound dies before it escapes. I shake more, flashes of Roaches charred and peeling hands arise from my mind. Scarecrows insides on the wall. Toad's eyes staring at me. Blood on Archer's gun. I hyperventilate, remembering the way Ozone had been laying in our path as we exited the house the final time. Passing the remains of the 'bonfire' Shepherd had started.

Shepherd. I freeze up. I don't breathe anymore. I can faintly recognize hands on my cheeks, faces swimming in my vision, people saying things at speeds and volumes that I just can't comprehend. Shepherd. I hear my own name, called by too many voices at once. Shepherd. My vision turns red, anger ripping through me. He killed them. He killed them all.

I sit up on the cot. Two sets of hands reach out to stop me but I swat them away violently, not wanting to be forced down again. Shakily I push the blanket down. My breath catches in my throat.

My_ legs_. They're bandaged in a number of different places, stitched up in others, and blood seeps through the gauze. I blink away tears as the dull, but burning, pain runs through me. I reach down and gently touch one of the bandages, feeling the raised wound beneath it.

"Shepherd," I whisper, eyebrows knitting together. A vengeful hate consumes me as I reflect on all he's done, all I've lost.

"Emily," I recognize my name, but I ignore it. Slowly, I reach up and touch my cheek. A bandage is plastered there as well. I can feel bumps and bruises on my temples and forehead. My lip is cut and swollen. Tears burn stronger now, fighting their way out of my eyes.

I look up, not really seeing, not really understanding. I open my mouth to vocalize my feelings, but instead I can only manage a weak, "Oh god…" before tears choke out the rest of my words.

$^$%&#$%^#$

I have no idea how long I've been laying here. The ceiling is the only thing that interests me. I can hear voices, but I just don't _care_. After my little 'nervous fit' earlier they've decided it's best to leave me be. I pretend I don't hear them. I simply stare blankly at the concrete and let myself remain numb.

Ghost is next to me. He says things every now and then but I can't bring myself to listen. He's worried, I can tell by his tone. I can't feel anything at the moment.

I can no longer tell if I'm crying or just breathing. It's hard to decide anything for sure. Maybe I fell asleep at one point. I don't know. I'm so confused.

Why?

That's my only concern at the moment. _**WHY?**_

Why would this happen? Why can't I simply deal with it? Why did Shepherd do this? _**WHY?**_

#$%^&^$#%^#$%!%$^#

Some hours later I finally drag myself back to reality. The others are gone. It's just Ghost and I.

He's fallen asleep with his hand on top of mine and his head resting next to my thigh. I remove my hand from his grasp and lazily run my fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter open and he smiles tiredly at me. "Better?"

I shake my head. "No, just calmer."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I was so worried." He sits up and scoots his chair closer to my head, "I'm sorry, love."

I reach up and run my finger over his lips. "Don't be sorry." I trail my finger up to the circles beneath his eye. "I'll be all right."

"I…" His voice died in his throat. "Emily, I love you. I've been…" He hesitates, shifting slightly. He glances at my eyes, but then avoids them, studying his hands with sudden intent.

"Tell me, Simon." He flinches. "Ghost."

"I've been…seeing things again. In my reflection…"

I put my hands on the sides of his face and examine the worn out demeanor that he carries with him. "You've been dreaming too. And hallucinating."

"I went off on Sveta the other night because she didn't know what was wrong with you. You were frightened, calling out for our…dead friends. You were in so much pain and no matter what we did you weren't calming down. I was so stressed out and then…I almost hit her, Emily. I **wanted** to. I wanted to hurt her for not knowing how to help you." He swallows. "I don't want to go back, Emily. I don't want to go back to how I was before. But I am! Every day I see myself getting closer and closer to where I was. I'm becoming Simon Riley all over again!"

Ghost trembles and leans his head against my shoulder.

"Listen to me. Putting this all on you. I shouldn't stress you out, I'm sorry, love."

"Talk to me, Si—Ghost. Talk to me."

He sighs and it all comes out. "The first day we got here I looked in the mirror. I had_** his**_ eyes…" He trembles again, his hand finding mine. "I must sound like a baby—"

"Talk to me."

"I couldn't look away. Then after you sunk into unresponsiveness I started hearing his voice. He's **mocking **me, Emily! That fucker hadn't tortured me enough in his time on the earth so now he's sticking around to make me insane now! I'm losing it again, I know it. Every minute he's here, whispering things, telling me off. I can't stand it." He squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to me like I'm the very source of life. "That wanker is still in my head. I'm still insane."

I turn my head and press my lips against his, desperately trying to calm him. He reacts immediately, hands going to the sides of my neck and tongue gently flicking out. I put my arms around his neck and end the kiss, looking into his eyes.

They're hazy with tears and fear as he gazes back at me. He smiles sheepishly. "I'm a bad person. I'm so selfish with you. I'm surprised you haven't left me yet. There are so many people who would take better care of you." Ghost sighs and leans his forehead to mine. "I'm a bad person."

"People change." I point out, running my hand through his hair again.

"I've done terrible things."

"So have I. Everyone has."

"You deserve better," He whispers, sounding ashamed to even say the words. "You deserve someone sane, at least."

"I don't _**want**_ better." I growl. "I want_**you**_."

**Trolol. Shitty chapter, I know :P**

**Sorreh, I'm just…dead. Finals in school are fast approaching and I now have life issues that are slightly more time consuming than they used to be. But, hey, at least I'm not giving up on this Fic :D**

**Special thanks to everyone out there who has the time to review, even though I don't have the time/patience to remove from my studies to respond to every single one. I read them all though, and really take them to heart. If you could keep doin' what ya do, it'd be great. My creativity is fading fast and if you want to get the full story I neeedddd inspiration.**

**Thank you =]**

**EGR.**


	17. The Author Writes Another 2000 words

**[**_**Emily Gadget Robin**_**s's Files are CLASSIFIED]**

**[Continue?]**

**(CONTINUE)**

**{LOADING…}**

**{ERROR Trojan5249348302.5 is Interfering}**

**(DISABLE Trojan5249348302.5)**

**(LOAD: Personal Files)**

**{LOADING}**

**[DOWNLOADING: Health Records]**

**[DOWNLOADING: Family Records]**

**[DOWNLOADING: Course Records]**

**[DOWNLOADING: Behavioral Records]**

**[DOWNLOADING: CO's Notes]**

**{COMPLETE}**

**{RUN?}**

**{{3****rd**** Person POV}}**

**[Fever Dreams…Or Are They Nightmares?]**

Emily remains in the state for quite some time. Mainly Sveta cares for her, leaving her and Mactavish's room only to sleep. She even eats in the concrete prison, keeping her eye on their fragile vital signs. While John typically came around for hours at a time, conversing with Sveta about the workings of life and other equally distant topics, Emily seemed to remain totally unresponsive to anyone.

This clearly bothered Simon, Sveta noticed early on, and he was nearly always by her cot, either reading quietly or thinking or even talking to her. On occasion, her dirt brown open and she stares at the ceiling blankly. Simon had convinced himself that she was listening to him intently, absorbing the stories and picturing the words. Sveta can't work up the heart to tell him that Emily opened her eyes quite often, even when he was not around. The 'Johns' and Nikolai can't either.

"You'll be up and about in no time." He smiles, reassuring the sleeping Emily for the thousandth time that she was 'absolutely fine'. Sveta pretends not to notice as he holds her hand and smooths out her blanket. "We'll all be fine. 'Tavish gets better every day. I do too…well…physically, and Price and Nikolai are already helping Terrance out." Simon presses a kiss to her hand. Emily doesn't respond to his touch or voice. "You remember Terrance. He was the bloke who saved us back at the Estate. He practically threw us into the helicopter." He leans his cheek into her hand. "Remember?"

Sveta has to turn away from Simon's efforts to bring Emily back from the reverie. She knows better though. Looking to Emily's carefully handwritten file she finds the last temperature that Sean had recorded. 41°C (105.8°F). Shite. She runs through her mental list of side effects… 'Fainting, vomiting, severe headache, dizziness, confusion, hallucinations, delirium and drowsiness can occur. There may also be palpitations and breathlessness'. Thank God she'd memorized the text-book.

She hurries over to Emily's bedside and strips off the top blanket, leaving the sheet. Gently pushing Simon out of her way, she tilts her patient's head to the side, making sure she can breathe easily. That done, she bustles over to the sink, wets a small bath sponge and dabs Emily's forehead with the lukewarm water. "See if I have any Ibuprofen in the cabinet." She orders, wiping off the sheen of sweat from Emily's neck and shoulders. Simon hesitates. "…Now!"

He jumps to life, darting over to the cabinet that was pointed out and begins sifting through the bottles there. Most of them are common vitamins and weak painkillers. Is this really all she has to treat her patients? He wonders, finally closing his fist around the medicine. "Here. What else?"

Sveta sets the bottle down on the side table near the cot, looking around and thinking fast. She couldn't administer the medication for the time being, but with the fever skyrocketing there is really little she can do. But with Simon watching hopefully she had to busy herself somehow. 'Give him some hope'. "Get me the thermometer. It is in the top drawer on John's side of the room."

Simon obeyed quickly, hustling over to the opposite side of the tiny 'infirmary' and ripped open the drawer. After digging through unidentified tubes and needle-less syringes he finds a thermometer, the old-school kind with the metal end and digital readout. 'Seriously…?' He sighs inwardly and trots back to Sveta.

"Good job," She accepts the instrument and slowly opens Emily's slack lips. "You deserve a treat."

He laughs, weakly. Guilt weighs heavily on his mind as he watches the young 'medic' care for his girlfriend. He'd gone off on her pretty crazily a few days before. He'd apologized and she'd assured him it was all right, but it wasn't in his mind. Here they are, in her little home, invading her life and privacy, using up her supplies and time, and still she insists upon the utmost kindness.

Sveta doesn't notice his thoughtful expression, busying herself with taking Emily's pulse and temperature. The pulse is fast, but strong and even. Her temperature is now running 40 degrees. Not much difference, but even a little improvement is an improvement. Being careful not to disturb her patient, she turns the sheet down; examining the bandages that Sean had reapplied that morning. Sveta nods in approval and eases the cover back into place.

"She is improving as far as the injuries go. Sean has assured me there is no infection other than the small gash in her cheek. That is why the fever is so high. A few more days of rest, plenty of fluids, and the Ibuprofen will have it gone." Simon doesn't look convinced. "I am sure of it."

Finally, a small, sincere looking smile crosses his face, "Thank you, Sveta. We owe you a lot."

"Yes. You do." She doesn't smile. "But that is my job."

He nods, in understanding.

'Funny, I kill for a living.'

Emily stirs slightly, brows knitting together. The fever dreams were getting gradually worse as the days went on.

_She sees Mactavish for a split second, blood smeared across his forehead, mixing with sweat and mud and dirt._

_Price appears next, shouting orders to faceless soldiers._

_She sees Roach as he lays still, his charred skin peeling from his young face…so very young. _

_Scarecrow's hands reached out and wrap around her throat, squeezing. _

_Grizzly crouches over a dead body, laughing with such honest mirth her stomach turns._

_Ghost runs to her, hands closing around her shoulders, shaking her with a terrifying, painful force giving her whiplash._

_Then Alex is there, lying in a hospital bed, his leg a bloody stump hidden with a white bandage. She reaches out her hand to comfort him. The moment it brushes his fingers he grabs it roughly, his eyes snapping open, flaring with anger._

_Roach writhes in the inferno, screaming bloody murder, shouting her name over and over. She couldn't run fast enough. He kept screaming, sobbing, dying._

_Ozone hits the ground, a Tango mercilessly slamming the butt of his rifle into his face._

_Archer's blood dribbles onto his eternally clean gun. The empty gun._

_Toad hangs over the boulder, his own blood cakes his skin, the larger half of his face shredded from debris and shrapnel. Blood seeps from his missing jaw._

"I wonder what she's thinking about." Simon thinks aloud, again taking his position next to Emily in his designated armchair while Sveta cleans John's wound.

"Probably what we're all thinking about," Mactavish sighs, trying not to squirm. That antiseptic really stings!

Sveta holds a hand to his muscular shoulder, trying to keep him still. "And that is?"

"What the 'ell we're gonna do."

"Amen." Price mutters, lying down in his cot. He and Nikolai had a long day of hauling logs up from the distant forest with Terrance. While they carried their little loads on carts (due to fatigue and injury Sean refused to let them carry more), Terrance carried large amounts at a time, either over his shoulders or tied to his back or both. Just watching the man sweat made him tired. Now he was really ready for some sleep.

Emily's eyes open, and they all hold their breath for a precious moment. Hope leaps to their throats, all of them dying for a chance to be happy for a while. But instead of addressing them, her cracked and scratchy voice calls out for another. "Alex." She shivers staring blankly at a scene none but her could see. Tears brim her eyes. "Alex…"

Simon immediately reaches for her hand, clasping it gently. She doesn't look at him.

"Ar—Archer…" She whimpers. "So much blood. So much blood in people…was." The convulsions quicken but nobody seems to notice. They are all trying to pretend that the words don't bother them. She'd been rambling on and off again for hours now. "Where's your jaw Toad? Where'd Toad leave his jaw?"

Mactavish was listening intently now. He never asked Ghost how his men had died. Now, listening to Emily, he feels sick knowing. But he has to. He has to know. Price tries to ignore Emily. He felt like an outsider when it came to the 141. That emotion is now intensified by the fact that he can't quite recall who Toad is. Nikolai makes an excuse to leave, claiming he is in need of a smoke even though he knows he is out of cigarettes. Ghost draws slightly closer to Emily's bed.

"I'm coming to get you Roach…" She thrashes slightly, "Don't scream, kid…stop crying…please…I'm coming for you."

Ghost reaches out and gently places a hand on her shoulder. "Let go of me! Let go! Oh god…" Emily's breath tears in and out of her lungs in shallow, ragged pants. Her eyes snap open, but she doesn't really see anything. Just the hallucinations. "I. Can't. Breathe!" She shoves her best friend's hand away and sits up straight.

"Somebody, restrain her!" Sveta shouts, dashing forward and forcing Emily back onto the bed.

"Get away from him!" Emily is shrieking, all restraint gone. Ghost and Sveta try to hold her arms down while Price keeps her weakened legs from causing more injury. "STAY. AWAY! You MONSTER!"

"Riley, hold this arm too. I need to get the smelling salts."

Ghost leaned further over, holding both of Emily's arms at her sides now. "Easy, easy, easy." He whispers to her, trying not to let Price hear. "Easy, love."

Emily continues to struggle, trying to get away from him. "Captain…Captain! Shepherd killed them! He killed them all! Captain!"

Mactavish shifts uneasily on his cot, wanting to help but unable to move past the searing pain in his chest. That fucker Shepherd had really done his job.

"Captain…" She groans, still trying to push Ghost off. "Oh god…Ghost…Oh god…" She freezes and her eyes lock on the ceiling, tears gathering in their cloudy stupor. "Ghost…You're hurting me." Immediately, Simon's hands fly away from her wrists as if they were on fire, believing that he'd been causing her pain. But she continues to repeat the phrase. "You're hurting me, you're hurting me."

Sveta is there again, holding a little vial beneath Emily's face. Upon inhaling the fumes from the salts, she jerks awake, panting, sticky with sweat, and afraid. Her eyes flash around the room, wide and terrified, panicking.

"Wh—"

She chokes on her own words, blinking tears away.

"Who _**are**_ you people?

**3457829rtwhuirgs**

**TROLOLOLOLOLOLOL~~~~~~~~!**

**So much writing in a short amount of time. I'm disappointed in me. This is not nearly as good as I wanted. :( **

**As a result, the next chapter is being held hostage. **

**That's right. It's all typed up. It's a long, super thought out, epic explosion of awesome. For once I've poured my heart into a single piece of the puzzle. And you all don't get to read it. **

**I'm patient. I'll wait until I deem the amount of reviews I receive ample enough to post again. I just can't keep writing like this. I can barely focus on the story as it is, add upcoming finals in and the lack of reviewers around; I'm just gonna have to face it, I'm wasting my time. Without inspiration, I'm like a go cart you have to push around the track with a ball and chain tied to both ankles.**

**Anyways, its held hostage, blahblahblah lacking inspiration, blablahblah, life goes on. I feel like this is a mean thing to do, BUT I JUST CAN'T KEEP POSTING.**

**Adieu. **


	18. Two Seperate Forces

"Who _**are**_ you people?" Emily's face is tight with terror and confusion. For a moment nobody can move or breathe. She continues to stare at them for several moments, moments that seem like hours for her teammates. Simon feels as if the room is spinning. Did she really just say that? Surely she didn't just say that. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, and then opens it again. What the hell should he say? Finally, Emily relaxes. "Jesus, guys, cool it. What is this, a soap opera?"

Just as quickly as the fear of Emily actually losing her memory arose it's doused in a mix of anger, relief, gratitude, and annoyance. Simon crawls off of her and glares at her. "What was that? Are you  
TRYING to give me a bloody heart attack?"

She smiles tiredly and lets her body sink into the cot. "Well, Simon, I hate to tell you but this isn't some kind of cliché war book when the writer gets bored with the direction they were going in and wipes the hero's memory." The tired smile forms into a grin. "Plus, you should've seen the look on your face."

Sveta throws her hands up above her head. "I am so finished with you people and your terrible humor!" And then the blonde storms out the door and slams it behind her.

"I hope she's not mad." Emily chuckles. "I was only playing around."

"She just isn't used to you." Mactavish jokingly reassures. "You haven't exactly been responsive for about a week now."

"A WEEK?" She shrieks. "HOW?"

"Well…you didn't…react well to…recalling what Shepherd did to us." Price hesitates, searching for the right word. The air is sucked from the room, leaving a thick silence that's only broken by the soft 'beep-beep…beep-beep…' of the heart monitors and the sound of Sveta, Nikolai, and Sean arguing in the next room.

Emily slowly sits up in her cot. "I'm going to kill him…" Her voice is incredibly soft, almost a whisper, and yet it carries such profound meaning that it sends a shiver of horror down Simon's spine. "I'm going to kill that double crossing, lazy, old ass, terrible, sickening, piece of SHIT that they called a General. I'm going to mutilate him so completely that even his dead-great-aunt-Fanny won't even want to acknowledge him in the hellfire he's going to spend the rest of his immortal time burning in once I'm done with—"

"Two things lass," The bedridden Captain interrupts, "First off, you're sounding like him. Keep it short, not so long winded." Price chuckles, albeit nervously. "Secondly…The man's dead."

For a moment Emily just sits there. A perplexed expression invades her face, eyes wide. Simon's own countenance is mirroring hers as they both stare at the Scot, who proclaimed the fact that the source of their deepest pain and loss was gone from the face of the Earth before they could even recover from the physical wounds. Eventually, Simon says what they've both been trying to. "H-how?"

"I killed him." Mactavish smirks proudly.

"Oh, of course you did." Price says indignantly. "I wasn't any help at all."

"Right…" He laughs. "We killed him."

"I'm still fuzzy on the 'how' part." Emily mutters, beginning to grow jealous that she and Simon had no idea what they meant.

"Well…We figured out that Shepherd was against us. We'd gotten the KIA updates only a few moments before the Shadow Company men flipped their guns on us." Mactavish recounts. Emily and Simon listen intently, leaning forward in interest. Her head cocks slightly to the side. "You're names were all there, every last one of your squad was proclaimed dead. Simon, your call-sign was listed last and I guess that was the queue for the Company. Neon and Chemo were with me. We were pinned down in a bit of a rough patch in the bone yards. I turned my back for one moment…" His voice strains and his eyebrows twitch towards a frown. "Then the two SC men with us let loose. I guess they wanted to make sure they were dead, 'cause the lads were Swiss cheese by the time they went down."

Emily lets her eyes droop and she can picture her CO, _blood smeared across his forehead, mixing with sweat and mud and dirt._ She blinks rapidly the image so vivid that it frightens her. She can almost hear the bullets tearing through Chemo's legs, the shells of bullets hitting rocks, and his characteristic scream; Neon's body making a loud thump when it hits the ground. She shakes her head, clearing the sounds away.

Price steps in. "I was with the rest of the blokes on the opposite side of the field. We were doing fine, just picking off men who came close. I couldn't believe they didn't send more of use with Mactavish instead of bull shitting around in our own little fortress. Nobody was getting in and nobody was bothering to issue more men out. So, I tried to get a command through to push forward. We could've taken over the entire yard…if that had been the real intention. The moment I opened my mouth and got onto the radio to inform the base, my men were shot down."

Emily could now see Price, _shouting orders to faceless soldiers._ She can see the barrels of guns suddenly rising from their resting position, aiming at the wrong men, and firing with deadly precision. She imagines Price, dropping the radio's mouthpiece and taking cover in a downed plane, trying to contact Mactavish. She again shakes her head, harder this time.

Thirty seconds of silence tick by before Soap sighs and picks up the story, reluctant to continue. "I ran as fast as I could towards Price's position. We took matters into our own hands, giving Makarov a ring and then calling up Nikolai. He got us our ride, but we lost our last man with us…Rook."

Simon tries to remember who Rook was. He mentally curses himself when he can't even picture the man's face. How can he not remember him? He was a part of the team right? Well…maybe not a part of his squad, not a 'prima donna' but still on the 141 team right? He had to be one of the best…right?

"We made it onto the plane. Soap drove us right up the loading plank while it was still in flight and we barely got out alive. We knew we had to get revenge, whether it put us on the most wanted list or not." Price reclines on his cot a bit. His mind wanders for a moment and he wishes he had a cigar or something to calm his nerves.

"Or killed." Mactavish adds. "Don't forget about the Shadow Company men we took out on the way in. I still can't believe we're laying here." He glances down at the bandages on his chest and after a moment of thought he says, "In one piece, no less."

"Minus a liter of blood or three." Emily grins mischievously.

The remains of the 141 sit in silence for a while. They were all content with just being quiet, all of them running over the new information and their own experiences. They all wonder just how they're alive. Specifically on Emily's mind is 'Why?'

Why is she still alive when so many other men were so much better than her, both in combat and in their hearts?

Royce was such a good man. He had a wife and daughter who loved him so much. A fat bundle of letters arrived for him every week (or as often as possible) from his many friends, all wishing him well and speaking of prayers they'd been sending up for him. Royce was probably burned the moment his body was found, the ashes ditched in some dark alley in Rio.

Archer was an absolute saint. He never raised his hand to anyone who didn't need set in line and he always apologized when someone deserved an apology or not. He was the best sniper on the entire 141. Even Shepherd offered up a word of praise for the younger man (you know, before he had the sniper killed). Now, his body was left with his sniper clutched in his hands. His blood, all that blood, was dry now. Emily prays he rests in peace.

Scarecrow brings up certain memories in her mind. One night in particular. She'd been sitting in the rec. room, a game of solitaire set out in front of her. She'd been debating which '7' she wanted to put on a red '8'. The door opened and an incredibly timid Scarecrow poked his head in. They talked for only a moment before he blurted out 'tell me about this Christianity thing'. She simply smiled and patted the sofa cushion next to her. She knows that he is in heaven, thanks in no small part to her. Emily takes a small amount of pride in this.

Ozone was always looking out for others, Roach was still so innocent and clean, Meat was really a hero beneath his asshole exterior, Toad and Worm were the most honest people around and were ready to throw themselves in front of a train for anyone, and what did she have?

Mactavish, Ghost, and Price all DESERVE to be here. They are brave and had saved her ass on a number of occasions. They are strong, brave war heroes. They had saved lives over and over again without thinking about themselves. Selflessness had always been their forte. They'd endured hardships, lost teams and family members. And yet they'd been strong enough to come back.

And yet, here she is, terrified (though she won't show it) and wishing she could just go home. All she can think about is her little apartment in Florida, the sunny skies and white beaches. She wants to slap herself for being selfish and afraid and angry and weak. She can't even pick herself off of the cot for god's sakes!

"We chased him into the desert from his secret base. It ended up in a wild boat chase down some rapids." Emily can hear the crashing water and the shouts of men on a boat. "By the time we reached the falls Shepherd's boat was already loaded into a helicopter. I shot at it but it was too late. The helo went down, and we went over the falls." Emily imagines the feel of falling down, down, down into a rocky bottomed river, the sensation causing her skin to prickle. She can hear Price and Mactavish screaming as they tumbled down; feel the heat from a burning helicopter.

"And he was dead, right?" Simon asks, on the very edge of his seat, blissfully unaware of Emily's vivid imagination. "Nobody can survive a crash like that."

"Yeah, well, the bastard did." Mactavish scoffs. "I pulled myself out of the water and followed him all the way to a rundown building in the middle of nowhere. When I reached him…" Mactavish falls silent.

"When you found him he…got you." Emily fills in softly.

"Aye."

"Then I stepped in. Me and the old windbag got into a scrap. I blacked out for a while after he pinned me. Then that crazy bastard," Price points at Mactavish. "Pulled a fucking KNIFE out of his chest and threw it." The mustached man leans forward. "You wanna know where he got him?" Emily and Simon nod vigorously, like children listening to their grandpa tell them a war story. "Right in the eye. While he was bleeding out from the chest, mind you."

The American's mouth drops open. "Shut. Up!"

Price frowns. "Why?"

"Wow, you really are old." She rolls her eyes. "I mean, that's the perfect revenge!"

"I didn't do it for revenge." The Scotsman speaks up. All eyes turn to him. "I did it because I had no other weapon. The knife was all I had."

"It was protruding from your RIBS!" Emily is getting excited now, pushing herself into a sitting position and waving off Simon's attempt to aid her. She beams at Mactavish. "I can see the look on his face when he took his eyes off of Price and saw you laying there, in a puddle of your own blood, with the knife he impaled you with in your hand—"

"Emily, calm down." Simon urges, but is ignored.

"—and the next thing he knows *WHOOSH!*he's watching his own death closing in!" She leans forward a bit—ignoring the pulling feeling the stitches cause on her legs—and continues. "One quick tug and a good throw to avenge your lost men and end it all! I'm telling you; it's the perfect revenge!"

"Hold on there." Price stands. Emily realizes that her heart is racing in her chest as images of the fight between him and Shepherd flash through her imagination. Her palms are slightly sweaty and she's shaking a bit. Mactavish and Simon exchange a look, both knowing that this is very un-Emily-like behavior.

Price doesn't notice, however, and continues on. "Revenge was on our minds, yes, but you can't allow that to cloud your thinking, Sergeant." Emily looks away. The last thing she's in the mood for is a lecture. "That's what Shepherd did. He got so caught up in the desire to avenge the men he lost and put his name into history for a 'better' reason that he created the 141 simply to destroy it. He became selfish and cruel. Don't let that happen to you." His cold eyes remain on Emily for several moments before continuing. "And that goes for you too, Ghost." Simon looks up in surprise. The Captain didn't usually bring him into the center of attention like this. "I don't know much about your past and you don't know much about mine;

"But I know that you've been through just as much, if not more, brutal pain as I have. The Gulag changed my perspective on men like you." Price inclines his head towards him a bit. "I look at you and see a young man who could've ended up in an asylum." Simon opens his mouth to object but the older man holds up a hand to keep him silent. "But instead you're strong enough and human enough to keep yourself sane. Unfortunately, there are still scars from our pasts that we can never hide with a mask or keep under a bandage. We've been changed by our captors, changed in a way that can never be fixed.

"We have to endure as men, as soldiers. But if you turn your thoughts towards getting back at the men who did this to you, getting back at Shepherd, getting back at the _world_… you forfeit that last bit of yourself you've clung to so desperately."

Simon hesitates for a moment. "I—I don't know what to say, sir…" He swallows back the lump in the back of his throat and wills the room to stop turning. "But you've hit the nail on the bloody head with that one."

Price nods slightly. "Now," he takes command of the situation, just like he always had. It was his job. It still is. "This isn't over, not for us, and not for the world. Makarov is still out there. The Shadow Company is out there too, as is all of the American Army who wants our head on a silver platter for what we did to their hero." He looks around at the other soldiers in the room. What he sees pleases him. Battered as they are, these soldiers are still the warriors he'd come to know them as. They are still ready for action, still dying to protect humanity, even with all odds against them and their bodies on the brink of being destroyed.

Mactavish still seems like the fiery young Scotsman he was when he first joined Price's squad, despite the 5 years apart and his new role as a captain. Though he hadn't known Emily for long he can still see the same strength in her as when he first laid eyes on her when they rescued him from the Gulag. The set expression that is on Ghost's face tells Price that even though the young man is tormented by his past, he is not afraid to face the music of the future.

"But," Price continues, his voice suddenly flat and solemn. "This is not the time for us to make our move. We're all weakened in one way or another. We need to regroup and recover for a few weeks…possibly months."

"Months?" Emily immediately protests. "I can't stand to wait around for months! Makarov is out there _**right now**_, doing who knows what kind of horrible things to people, and you want us to wait around for _**months**_?"

"Gadget." Mactavish says with a warning tone in his voice. "Price is right. You and I aren't ready for any kind of combat. Well…not physically ready anyways. I understand how you feel, but this can't be about revenge. It needs to be more than that. We need to be smart and think this through, let ourselves heal. We'll get our chance."

Emily remains silent.

^%&^*$&(%^&^%%%$^*(%$%$^&

Later in the night; with Mactavish sound asleep from his pain medicine, Nikolai and Price out in the hall speaking to Sveta, Sean, and Terrance, Emily and Simon have some time alone. He crawls up onto the cot with her; careful not to bump any of the equipment she's hooked up to and avoiding the wounds on her legs, and pulls her close.

Emily lets her head rest in the crook of his neck. "I love you." She whispers.

"I love you too," He sighs contently. "I know you're impatient to get out of here, but we just can't do that." He kisses her forehead, trying to apologize for siding against her.

"But…" She reaches for a logical reason they _**should **_get going that would outweigh all reasons to stay. Of course there aren't any, but she truly wishes there was. "But…"

"I'm sorry." He runs his fingers through her hair. "But this could actually be good for us. Be out of action for a while. Think…think about our lives."

She pulls away and looks at his face with a confused expression on hers. He tries not to look in her eyes. "Look at me, Simon." He flinches. "Sorry…Ghost."

"I…I can't. My…reflection…" He runs a hand through his hair. "This is stupid. Why can't I just ignore my own reflection?" Simon becomes annoyed with himself. He really must be weak if he can't handle looking in a mirror.

"No, you're not weak. You're not!"

"I'm an idiot then."

"Don't you _ever_ say that. You're not weak and you aren't an idiot, Ghost. Just because you're strong doesn't mean you're not scared of some things. Just because you're scared doesn't make you ignorant. You're allowed to be afraid to remember what happened to you." She fumbles away from him and reaches for her belongings on the counter. Unzipping a pocket on her Kevlar, she turns to him again. "I saved this for you."

His mask. The edges are burnt, but it's there. Ghost looks up at her for a moment, not sure what to do.

"Take it." She urges, pushing it closer to him.

Slowly, he accepts the mask. Ghost remains motionless for a while, simply staring down at the cloth in his hands. "Thank you." He finally manages. There is silence between the two for a long time. It's not the painful silence they'd endured while waiting for rescue though. It was a comfortable silence, one that was shared between best friends. Ghost tries to remember if he'd ever had a friend like Gadget, let alone a girlfriend like her. Sure as a kid and teenager there were plenty of kids he became close to and a few girls here and there that he'd dated…but never one quite like her.

She's a paradox, he decides. One moment she could be helping one of their men off the ground and the next she could be beating them down because of a stolen iPod. One day she could be dancing with one of the kids at Tikrit and the next she'd be looming over a Tango with a knife in his throat. It's impossible to tell exactly what she's thinking between those two ears of hers. She doesn't even need a mask. She's strong, and she's fragile. She's smart, and she's risky. She's a brick wall that lets nothing through, and a pair of warm arms to help you through the day. She's everything he'd ever wanted, and everything he'd ever been afraid to lose.

Not to say that she's perfect. She'd made mistakes all the time. She has emotional baggage that he'll never be able to fully understand. He can tell that there's something inside of her that isn't quite right.

Just like him.

While Ghost is busy with his thoughts, Emily has her own.

Is she really falling into the same trap of revenge like Shepherd? Surely not…but then again it's all she's been able to think about. She imagines what it would feel like to have the final blow against Makarov. It would be everything. She imagines a knife in her hand, closing in on him, a grin trying to fight her way onto her face just from the thought.

"Something funny?" Ghost asks.

"Hmm? Oh, no, uh, just thinking…"

"Right," Ghost nods, "Is that always the case?"

"Ha. Ha." Gadget knocks his arm playfully. "You can sleep in your own cot tonight, _**sir**_."

"But—"

"Not buts." She presses a finger to his lips. "Get out of my cot."

Though she is teasing Ghost sighs and slides off her cot, "Fine."

Not liking the idea of being alone Gadget reaches out to stop him. "No, wait, I was only teasing."

"No, no, don't try and spare my feelings." Mock drama drips from Ghost's words as he slowly makes his way towards the cot across the room. "I can take a hint. I know when I'm not wanted."

"Ghooooooostttt." Gadget whines, upset that she can't climb out of bed and stop him herself.

"Yes~~?" He turns back to face her.

"Please…?"

He sighs, inwardly curses himself for giving in to her adorable display so easily, and clomps back to her cot, "…Fine."

She beams and scoots over to make room for him. After they're settled in, Gadget beneath the sheet and Ghost above, she looks up. "Goodnight, Simon."

He rejects the urge to flinch and smiles at her warmly. "Goodnight, love."

Gently, she kissed the tips of her fingers and presses them against his warm lips. He holds onto her wrist and closes his eyes, wanting to never part from her. Gadget leans back into the pillow and closes her eyes.

The nightmares won't be bothering them tonight.

234-527834802345-

When Nikolai and Price return to the backroom for bed they pretend they don't notice Simon and Emily curled up against each other on Emily's cot. "When do you think we can have the helicopter ready?" Price asks, sitting down on his mattress and pulling off his boots.

"Within a week." Nikolai answers. He sounds sure of himself so Price takes his word for it.

"We'll talk to the others in the morning. I'm sure Emily and Simon are both still impatient to leave."

"Da." The Russian agrees. "But…how do you think they will react to your plan, Price?"

The captain hesitates. For a long minute or two he says nothing, instead busying his hands with silly things like hanging up his hat and removing his socks. "Not well." He finally admits. "Not well at all."

325809234897

The two-way radio on the wooden table blares on. "Come in, Hotel Quebec. This is Sierra at Lima Niner requesting response. Code Tango Foxtrot. Repeat, code Tango Foxtrot. Urgency code red."

Quickly the guard who is on horn-duty snatches ups the transmitter. "This is Hotel Quebec, Sierra, what's your status on code Tango Foxtrot?"

"I've got Papa Charlie and Mike Charlie on my premises. Urgency code red."

A bead of sweat collects on the young guard's forehead. "Both?"

"That's what I said, god dammit." The accented voice responds. "Get me Silver Eagle. Urgency code RED!"

"Standby." The young man springs from his chair and hurries over to the control table. Keying in to one of the intercoms he says, "Commander, you may want to get down here."

"What is it?" A snappy voice demands. "I'm very busy."

"It's Sierra, ma'am, he says he's got Papa Charlie and Mike Charlie both in his sights."

There's a moment of stunned silence from the commander before she responds. "I'll be right down, Private, tell Sierra to keep himself in a secure location."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good job, private." And the red light indicating that the commander was online blinks off.

Feeling quite proud the private flops back into his seat. "Silver Eagle is on her way in. Hang tight, Sierra."

"Hurry it up." The accent becomes more noticeable. The private tries to identify it. Irish or something.

"Will do."

Some hundred thousand miles away another set of ears is listening in on the conversation between the young private and his mysterious colleague. And they're very interested. So interested, that he is ignoring his associates annoyed prattling.

"Sir, are you even listening to me?" The man demands, clearly irked beyond comparison.

"No." The man at the receiver answers simply. Then he goes back to work.

The other man finally explodes. "I have stuck with you this long, Makarov, but if you keep leaving me in the dark like this then do not expect any more of my help!" No response. He throws his hands in the air, and leaves.

Makarov smiles darkly.

He has them all right where he wants them.

**Trolololol.**

**I was gonna make it longer, but I split it up. Toooo long. Also, I would feel bad if I held the chapter any longer, I got some really encouraging reviews.**

**So it was mean to take my chapter hostage. I'm sorry :(**

**But I'm doing it again :D BYEEEEE!**

**P.S. I got A's on all my finals, minus Spanish, which I got a D on ^-^ Yayyyy for passing. Also, YAY FOR SUMMER! :DDDD**


	19. They're Closing In

**[Somewhere In America]**

**[Shadow Company Main Base]**

**[Lt. Jason Brown]**

**[3****rd**** Person POV]**

"No offense, ma'am, but this is going into enemy territory. Doesn't it seem a little…rash?" The lieutenant asks the female commander shakily.

She glares at him. "Rash? Of course not; the routes are charted, the plan is set, and everything is in order and prepared."

"Yes, but, our company is notorious for receiving false Intel…"

"Were. We were notorious for getting our Intel wrong. Walk with me." She turns her back to the lieutenant. Without waiting for an answer she strides off. The lieutenant swallows and quickly follows behind. He almost wishes Shepherd would come back. At least then he knew what was expected of him. The commander either does not notice how reluctant the lieutenant is to go or she does not care.

She does not care for she continues speaking. "If you haven't noticed, things are different around here."

The Shadow Company men are running drills like never before. Those in the shooting range are firing off round after round and rarely missing. The lieutenant watches wordlessly as the captains shout at specialists and sergeants to move faster, running the courses themselves at lightning-quick speeds.

The raven-haired woman looks over to the silent man, "You see, Brown, this isn't in Shepherd's hands anymore. The man was a hero. He had the best at heart for our nation. But unfortunately, he was focused more on grooming his prima donna squad."

"Look where that got him." The man mumbles.

"Exactly." She motions for him to follow. They walk down a dimly lit hallway, nodding towards a group of privates who salute them in sync as they pass. The commander leads him into the command center. All around them men and women are examining maps, listening to foreign Intel snippets, studying screens, pointing out the most minuscule flaws to one another. She waves him on, bringing him over to a large map on the wall. "Now, there's none of that single take, as quick as possible Intel that he was collecting. We cross reference everything."

Several large circles were drawn around a red pin. In the circles is another handful of pins. "These mark the possible locations of our objectives."

Lt. Brown frowns. "An awful lot of them, isn't there, commander?"

"Yes." She nods. The commander grabbed a green marker and circled one of the tacks within the farthest circle. "But, with agent codenamed Sierra in this area. We know they're right there."

"Agent Sierra." Brown repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't we send him there before you were enacted?"

"Yes. For misconduct. He's been there for a _long _while. He knows the area."

"Can we trust him to get the job done?"

"No. That's why I'm sending you in with your squad." The commander examines Brown's reaction. She likes what she sees.

Brown smirks, examining the map. "Sounds fun."

**[UNIDENTIFIED LOCATION]**

**[Victor Makarov's Secret Location]**

He's going over options. Again. If he weren't a perfectionist things wouldn't run so smoothly, Anatoly reminds himself. The way Makarov operates annoys the hell out of Anatoly. So, Anatoly repeats himself for about the eighth time. "The plans are sound, we are wasting time."

Makarov makes no argument. He doesn't even shift in his chair or give his second in command any sign he heard him. He places another red dot on the map.

"What could go wrong? According to our apprehended information both of our targets are wounded and unable to fight back." Anatoly stands and leans over Makarov's desk. He puts his hand on the map that his 'boss' is so interested in. The hetero-colored eyes finally slide up to meet his. "Now is the time to act."

Makarov leans away, his elbows on the arm wrests of his expensive desk chair and his fingers pressed together. It's all for appearance. "What is your plan, Anatoly? To rush in with guns blazing? No. This must be handled with precision. Our targets need to be eliminated quietly. With this 'Agent Sierra' snooping around for Commander Stanford they will know we acted before they did. Beyond that, anything we leave behind…or anyone." His glare suddenly hardens and in a flash he is practically nose to nose with Anatoly, who staggers back at Makarov's sudden movement. "This is not the time for blind action. This is the time for strategy. It sounds to me like our two 'friends' have more of their own surrounding them."

Slowly the tension in the extremists countenance fades and he sinks back into his chair, eyes on the map. He draws another red dot, connecting it to the one adjacent to it.

Anatoly's heart is racing. This is why he worked with Makarov so well. While Makarov had the "know-how", Anatoly had the sheer will to get things done. That's why he is kept around…or so he thinks. "I assume you have a plan though."

He gradually pushes the map over to his comrade. "Anatoly, the world's next great conflict does not need millions of people to start it. Merely the will of one man. You of all people know that."

Anatoly is already memorizing the map's lines and locations Makarov marked. "There's nothing there! Empty desert! They will never survive escape."

Makarov nods. "Exactly. But it also raises a problem. They had to get there somehow. They have allies."

"Allies are easily bought." Anatoly points out.

A frightening grin spreads across Makarov's face. He isn't one to smile, but the expression suits him in an eerie way. "That's why I like you Anatoly. You understand that no ally is forever."

Anatoly fails to see the double edge to his 'commander's' words.

**[Somewhere in the middle of the Caspian Lowland Desert]**

**[Sveta's Home and "Infirmary"]**

**[Simon 'Ghost' Riley]**

**[0200 hours]**

Ghost can't sleep. He glances at the digital clock's shining red screen and has to fight back a groan when he sees it's only been two minutes since he last checked. He slept fine last night, no nightmares. Now the nightmares start up the very moment he closes his eyes.

"Can't sleep, English?"

Ghost, startled, shoots straight up in bed. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around for the man who spoke. Nobody is awake around him. The blue curtains are drawn, creating his own little room. He swallows hard. 'It's only a nightmare, only a nightmare…nobody is there.'

"Don't try and fool yourself, English, you know I'm real."

The voice is coming from everywhere at once. For a moment, Ghost can't think straight. He wants to panic. Quickly, he tries to get a hold of himself. 'Roba is dead, you bloody idiot, dead. You killed him yourself.'

"Yes, but you also killed yourself, didn't you?"

Again Ghost can't help himself. He freezes up. The sound of heavy footsteps draw near his bed curtains. He frantically searches for something to defend himself with. A hand slips in between the curtains at the foot of his bed. His heart leaps to his throat.

"Ghost?" A timid little voice whispers through the dark. He Immeadiately calms himself. It's Gadget. Wait…

"How are you off your cot?" He demands, throwing his sheets off with his good arm.

Gadget feels around for his bed in the dark, using the footboard to support her aching body. "Your heart-rate-thingamajig was going all whack. I had to check on you."

Ghost tries to cover up as best as he can. "It's been doing that on and off again for the whole week. Something's wrong with it."

"Something wrong with it, or something wrong with you?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You're picking up traits from me and the guys you know that? My eyebrow thing, Archers backwards engineering of people's honest word—"

"Don't lie to me, Ghost."

A long moment of silence consumes them.

"And Scarecrow's habit of telling truth from lies…" Gadget inclines her head in a short nod. "C'mon. Let's get you back in bed. Sveta will kill us both if she sees you standing." He heaves himself off of his cot and loops Gadget's arm across his shoulders.

She grumbles but allows him to drag her back into her set of curtains. He helps her back up on the cot and pulls the blanket over her legs. "There." His eyes travel up to her face. Burns and lacerations and bruises and scabs tarnish her beauty, but those will fade. Even if they scar and never leave, Ghost thinks and kisses her on the cheek, because it doesn't change a thing. They'll match the ones on her heart.

He plops down in the chair he's been inhabiting for the past week and lets his chin rest on his chest.

"Aren't you going back to bed? It's like two a.m." She yawns, stretching her burnt arms over her head. Ghost admits to himself he's relieved those are already beginning to heal. She got them for him and Roach.

He hesitates for a moment, not really wanting to leave the glow of the screens around Gadget and go back to his dark little world across the room. "I'll sleep better here anyways."

She smiles and closes her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately. He leans forwards and rests his torso on the unoccupied foot of her bed. His eyes slide shut and he drifts off, thoughts of Roba still on his mind. No nightmares come though, only a slightly uncomfortable darkness.

52498758092734529

Gadget is the first one to wake in the morning. Ghost is fast asleep in the chair, slumped over and snoring softly. His mask is on and his sunglasses are slightly askew. She smiles and pats his head sleepily. "Good. You sleep, I'm going on a walk."

Clumsily, so clumsily that it's nearly impressive, she drags herself off of the bed and uses Sveta's empty desk chair as support. Looking down, she has to resist the urge to puke as she examines the rows of stitches spider webbing up her thighs. They totally destroyed her pants to get to them and she's left with a scraggly pair of messily cut shorts. Better than nothing though.

She limps past the closed curtains around Price and Nikolai, stopping at Mactavish's 'room'. "Hey…psst. Tavish?"

Mactavish, being a light sleeper, hears her. "What are you doin' up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep any longer." She admits. "Nightmares. Can I come in?"

"'Course." The Scot laughs. "It isn't exactly pretty, but I don't mind." She wheels the desk chair forward and stiffly walks in. He smiles at her from his caught, motioning towards a chair. She collapses into the indicated chair and sighs in relief. "Sore?"

"Yeah." She grins at him.

He's surprised, to say the least. After her meltdown he figured she'd have some serious mental health issues for a while after she awoke. Apparently, she's fine. "Who got you? No offense or anythin', but your face is a mess." He nods towards her maimed legs. "And it's quite the feat that you're walking."

She looks down, gingerly touching one of the wounds. "The burns, well, I'm sure Ghost told you about getting burned alive…" He nods. "Well, I pulled Ghost out and tried to get Roach." She holds her arms up slightly. Burns stretch over her hands up to her elbows. "I wasn't fast enough for the kid. He was…melted when I got to him." Before Tavish can offer any words of reassurance she continues. "The cut on my face if from a guy that came to get rid of any stragglers. It was just Ghost and I and he was…busy. My knife throwing skills aren't that great and I got his shoulder. I had to…I had to use my hands."

Mactavish thinks for a moment. He's never killed anyone with his bare hands before, save for a quick neck snap here and there. He imagines Gadget's tiny frame over a man, hands to his throat, squeezing as hard as she can. "I'm sorry, lass. I would never have let this happen to you."

"But it has," She says bitterly. Gadget glares stonily at her stitched up legs. "And there's nothing we can do but wait to be found."

"Do you mean that?" He asks.

"No. We can run. We can…split up. It's hard, but it's the only way I see out, sir. We…we should wait a little longer, heal up a bit more, get back on our feet…then split up."

"You don't want to go after Makarov?"

"No, sir." Gadget lies. "I just want to go back to living. I can't fight anymore."

She's always been a good liar.

"All right." Mactavish nods, his game face in place. "If you want to do that, I'll talk to the others. But think about it Gadget. We're the only ones who know. You can leave our group, if you swear you'll never talk. You know what happens if you do." Gadget nods. She knows they'd kill her if she spoke, friend or not. "But I don't want you to. We need your skills here. We need you to fight."

She smiles. "Orders, sir?"

"There's the Gadget I know."

23452563467657354236475

Twelve Shadow Company men are hunkered down amongst the rocky terrain. Sveta, Price, Nikolai, and Terrance don't know. They're drinking coffee and laughing with Sean. Sean glances out the window and spots the men right away. Perfect. Now he can finally get out of here.

Sveta stands up from the table, heading toward the hidden door. "I'm going to check on the others."

"Oh, the other war criminals?" Terrance asks bitterly, glaring at Nikolai.

"I'll come with you, Sveta." The pilot offers. He's not a violent man but the temptation of strangling the American is growing.

Nobody notices Sean slowly easing his hand beneath the table and taking hold of his pistol.

"I think I can handle myself, thank you Nikolai." Sveta clenches her teeth and steps towards the back wall.

Sean stands from the table, lifts his gun, and fires in one fluid movement. BAM! The whole house seems to shake with the force of the noise. The world shifts into that fabled 'slow-motion'.

Sveta jerks unnaturally. Price tips the table over and ducks behind it. Nikolai lurches towards Sveta's falling form. Terrance pulls his own sidearm. Sean began to adjust his aim, directing the barrel towards Nikolai.

Just as suddenly as the world had shifted into slow motion it slams back into gear. Before Nikolai can blink (or even take cover for that matter) there's a second gunshot. He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for searing pain. It never comes.

Slowly he cracks his eyes open and peeks up at the others. Sean is grappling at his throat, choked gurgling noises escaping in bubbles through his bloody lips. Terrance is standing, pistol still aimed at the Irishman, panting hard. Price stands from behind the table, observing stoically. Sean staggers backwards, bumps into the wall, and slides down, finally becoming still.

"Traitor." Terrance spits at the body. "Come on."

Nikolai looks down at Sveta's crumpled form. The bullet tore through the back of her skull. He swallows and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut again. The window shatters and the other two hit the dirt. Nikolai feels frozen. "Sveta's dead."

"Yes, Nikolai, and now we have to GO!" Terrance screams, leaps to his feet, and drags Nikolai towards the back. Price chances a look out the window.

An entire squad of troops is moving in. He recognizes the uniforms immediately. Shadow Company. He scans the men converging on his location, eyes on their weapons. No snipers (at least not visible, there's probably a hide or two up there), nine assault rifles he can't identify from this distance, and an… "RPG!" He shouts and throws himself away from the wall. Mere moments after he got away from it, it explodes in a fire filled mess of rubble. "Go, go, go!"

Terrance rips the secret hatch open, ignores Gadget's confused stare, and tosses Nikolai through. "MOVE!" He yells back at Price, who scampers through. Taking one last look behind him, Terrance slips in and slams the hatch.

Lieutenant Brown and his men storm through the gaping hole. He spots the two bodies in the front, and commands four of his men to move them for examination. Then he begins to search the house.

Gadget heard the commotion. "What the hell is going on out there—?"

"Sean is a traitor." Nikolai cuts in. "He…he killed Sveta."

A cloud gathers over her face and she falls silent. Ghost staggers out of his portion of the room. "So we locked ourselves in here? Who came up with that plan?"

"I did." Terrance responds shortly. "And it's a good one. Follow me."

52-039872049582-1034

"Lieutenant Brown, sir, there's nobody here." One of the privates says hesitantly. "Maybe Sierra was wrong…"

"Shh." The lieutenant hushes him and presses his ear to the wall. Muffled voices…coming from the other side. "They're in the walls. Get the explosives team in here. Now. Get ready to engage, boys, we have no idea if they're armed or not. Papa and Mike mustn't be killed, but everyone else is fair game. Check all corners. If there is ANY friendly fire I will personally have your head. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Nine voices echo.

"Charlie team, this is Alpha Lead, do you copy?"

"We got ya, Alpha Lead, this is Charlie Team. What do you have for us?"

"Get back to secondary point Bravo, be ready to cover us in a sticky situation. Watch for escape. We're gonna be blowing a wall pretty soon."

"Yes, sir. Charlie team out."

1-9203841-283751-20389

Terrance pushes equipment and wires and a cot out of his way, knocking it all haphazardly on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Gadget demands.

"Getting us out… I've got an emergency tunnel..." He pants for a moment. "And a helicopter."

"Fantastic." Price throws his hands in the air. "They'll see the bird and get scared to shoot us down."

"You have a better plan?"

Silence.

"I thought so."

Price helps Terrance clear the way. With all the monitors and such out of his path Terrance kneels down and pull away the floorboards. "Help me move your friend there. We have to move fast." He turns to Gadget. "Grab that cot from over there. The mobile one." Terrance grabs Emily's arm. "Ladies first."

"But—"

"MOVE YOUR ASS!" Terrance shouts.

Gadget shrinks away. Terrance faces Ghost. "Get her through. At the end of this tunnel there's a trapdoor on the right. There are all kinds of twists and turns that lead off to the left. Don't follow any of them. Walk until there's a right turn." He takes Gadget's hand and helps ease her down into the opening. "Keep each other safe. We'll be down soon."

The moment that the two disappear into the darkness Terrance is already approaching Mactavish. "Come on, come on."

With Nikolai's help, Terrance manages to hoist Mactavish as painlessly as possible onto the mobile stretched. "John, help me carry him. Nikolai, watch our tail."

The three hastily make their way into the tunnel and the crashes at the door are becoming louder. Nikolai notices sullenly that the concrete is beginning to crack and crumble. As the pilot follows the others through the tunnel they can all hear the sound of a battering ram against the door.

Huefou8awetagweiufhaishdef

**Inspiration levels at 0%...**


	20. Forced From Safety

**Here we go. It's been way too long. WAY too long. I'm worried that I'm gonna be a bit shaky. **

**Special thanks to all of you who have continued to send me encouragement through messages or reviews. Some went the opposite way (some even hurt a bit, I admit) but I finally got back on the horse. **

**&!#$%$^&*#&^$#$%!#$#$%**

"Charges, rigged to blow."

"Everybody back, we got 15 seconds."

"Once that wall goes down, rush in! Remember; Papa and Mike MUST be alive. Check your targets." Lieutenant Brown orders stiffly. Edging away from the wall and sinking into a kneel, he takes his place next to the rest of his men. They all nod at each other, brimming with confidence.

The traitors are backed into a corner. This mission will be smooth sailing.

Well…that is it would be if the so called 'traitors' weren't hauling their literal asses down an escape tunnel.

BOOM!

Sveta would've had a cow, if she was still alive. The young woman had made it her life focus to keep the 'infirmary' up and running, doing whatever she could to keep the desert dust out and to bring whatever machinery she could in. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on black market equipment wasted! If she would've seen that concrete wall fall and destroy her life's work…well…it would've destroyed her too. Y'know. If Sean hadn't killed her…

Within seconds, the whole room is crawling with Shadow Company men. They whip open curtains, turn over cots, dig through cabinets, skim the files. After only about thirty seconds of avid searching, the whole room grows still. Lieutenant Brown stands completely still in the center of the room.

A moment of bone-jarring silence later, one of the private's speaks up. "It's empty, sir—" His buddy next to him swats the back of his head, rolling his eyes.

"Really? We hadn't noticed."

"Quiet, both of you." Brown orders. He holds up his hand and cocks his head to the side in concentration. The rest of his men mimic him, straining to figure out what he means. They exchange shrugs and confused glances. "There! Do you hear that?"

The soldiers can faintly make out the sound of a distant, soft, echoing tapping.

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Quick. Rushed. Short. The sound fades slowly, like it's getting farther and farther away…

"Footsteps." The private mutters, looking around for confirmation.

"Exactly." Brown's eyes flash around the walls of the room. He analyzes the placement of machines and equipment. Finally, he spots what he's looking for. "There!"

One of the cot's had been perfectly positioned over one of the corners. He points to it and rushes forward, followed by his second in command. They shove the cot out of the way. A tunnel. The floor boards had been hastily torn up and dropped down into the hole.

"All right. We're splitting into our designated two teams. Team Charlie, on me. Team Delta, you're with Oxide." Brown thumps his second in command on the chest. "Team Charlie will continue down the tunnel. Keep radios on. We need to keep contact in case something goes wrong. Team Delta, watch our tail. If anything goes wrong, take the route back to the bird. Go, go, go!"

**[SWITCHING Targets]**

**{TARGET INPUT;}**

**{SELECTION; Pave Low}**

**[DISTANCE FROM Original Target?]**

**{ABT; 1500 Meters}**

**[LOADING NEW TARGET]**

**[TARGET Identified]**

**[PAVE Low]**

**[IDENTIFIED]**

**[ANATOLY]**

**[STATUS; Wanted Man]**

**{CHANGE Status}**

**{TARGET Anatoly}**

**{STATUS; NOT AVAILABLE}**

**[STATUS Change Complete]**

**[LOADING Information]**

"Looks like we got company." Anatoly passes the pair of binoculars to the man beside him, leaning against the helicopter hatch as he lets his second in command observe the scene. According to Viktor's 'acquired information', their two targets were within the 'safe house'. He'd sent Anatoly and several other men to apprehend the targets and bring them in. Alive. Now, it looks like another group of soldiers beat them to the punch.

The front door had been blown open and one of the windows shattered as the group had overtaken the house. Now there were obvious signs of an interior explosions.

"Stanford's men?"

"Of course."

They'd watched as twelve men had advanced on the house, three remaining behind. Those three are on high alert. "We could take them down quite easily."

"We could." Anatoly agrees, scratching his chin and fingering his gun. He weighs the odds carefully. Five of his own men. The first three would be simply taken care of. But the rest…Anatoly shakes his head. "We stay in the air. Watch for any change."

"Are you certain we should not simply continue to the objective?"

Anatoly nods curtly. "A brush with the Shadow Company would not be…good for business. We stay in the air and wait."

**[WARNING Trojan 445103.456 Located]**

**{DISABLE Trojan 445103.456}**

**[Trojan 445103.456 DISABLED]**

**[UNABLE To Relocate Target]**

**[INPUT New Target?]**

**{LOCATE John Price}**

**[TARGET Located]**

"Pick up the pace, old man! They'll be on our tails in a matter of minutes! We don't have time for this!" Terrance hisses, trying his best to stay quiet. Their footsteps echo around the tiny, concrete tunnel, causing a considerable ruckus. Sweat beads on the American man's forehead as he tries as hard as he can _not _to imagine what will happen if he's caught. Harboring war criminals. He would be shouting at Sveta if only…

Don't think about that, he tells himself, jaw set firm but his eyes watering. Don't think about her.

The transportation cot Price and Terrance are carrying betwixt them has a very distraught Mactavish balanced on it, grumbling irritably to himself about 'damn stab wounds'. Price, though offended by being referred to as 'old man' (he isn't _that _old…), remains silent and speeds up his pace a bit. Gadget and Ghost were much farther down the tunnel and the rest had to catch up.

The pair is moving as quickly as they can manage with Mactavish's condition; they can't run for fear of jostling his wounds or making too much noise and alerting the infiltrators of their location.

Nikolai covers them from behind. He hasn't said a word (or made any sound at all) since…

"Oi, Nikolai," Price looks over his shoulder at the pilot, concerned that he'd been so quiet. The Russian's head jerks up, eyes locking with the Captain's, face tear stained from silent sobs. Price nearly recoils with surprise. Nikolai's always been so tough…"You gonna be all right?"

Without an answer in any form, Nikolai goes back to watching the tunnel behind them.

Price sighs deeply, getting a bit upset that he can never seem to help the others the way he needs to. Mactavish reaches up and bumps his knuckles to the elder man's wrist. A silent exchange passes between the two and finally, Price nods, understanding Mactavish's message clearly. _'Give him time.' _The weathered soldier makes a mental note to talk to Nikolai the next chance he gets.

But for now, it'll be best to leave the pilot be…

For now.

Ghost tugs a very strained Gadget along behind him. They're both panting, a sheen of sweat clinging to their skin, blood seeping through their bandages. They struggle up a small incline and she had to cling to his arm for some extra support. Shaking and heaving with gasps for air she finally collapses against the tunnel wall. "I-I have to slow down…I can't—"

"No. What we can't do is slow down. Come on, Gadget, those bastards will be right behind us!" Ghost interrupts her and grabs her hand, trying to pull her along again. They can't get captured. He won't let it happen.

Gadget tears her hand away, slumping over slightly and breathing even harder. It's like she can't get any oxygen into her lungs, let alone keep going. The wounds on her legs burn angrily and she furiously blinks away the pain. "And so are Nikolai and Mactavish and Price and Terrance. Our friends." She snaps, trying to steady herself and holding back a groan. "We can't just leave them…"

"We aren't leaving them. We have to get to the helicopter. We can get it ready to go and when they get there we can get away. All of us." Ghost grips her shoulder and lifts her chin so she's looking at him. Through his glasses she can just faintly see his eyes. Blue and burning with an intensity of desperation it nearly makes her heart break. Her own eyes brim with desperate tears and she looks back over her shoulder at the darkness of the tunnel that seems to stretch on forever.

They're friends are back there, hurt, alone…they've been separated, again! And there's nothing she can do about it in her sorry state. Her chin drops to her chest and she grips her hands into fists, glaring down at her injured legs.

"Emily."

She lifts her head.

Ghost is there, holding her against him, nearly suffocating her in a tight embrace. Gadget accepts the hug, burying her face in his neck and trying to ignore the sweat clinging there. "We have to keep going. We won't leave them. But we have to keep going."

"Right."

And he's dragging her along again, the pair struggling with their various wounds and panting in an effort to get ample amounts of oxygen in.

**[POV Shift]**

**{Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley's POV}**

I grip Gadget's hand as tightly as I can, rushing down the tunnel at a pace I can barely hold to. She hurries along behind me, trying her best not to gasp with pain. Just when I think we've gotten lost forever in these catacombs, the tunnel breaks right. "There! We've made it!" I shout.

"SH! They could hear us." Gadget hisses.

We run, by some miracle without falling, to the end of the tunnel and come upon a ladder. I look up and see that it leads to a hatch. "I'll go up and open the hatch. I'll signal you if it's clear."

"Right."

Climbing burns my already exhausted muscles. I grit my teeth and force myself up that last rung. Then I reach up and fumble with the hatch, trying to find the handle through the darkness.

"Hurry, Ghost." Gadget whispers, training her gaze back down the tunnel.

Finally, FINALLY, I get handle and throw the hatch open. Bright sunlight fills the room and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to protect them. I wasn't expecting that at all. Once my eyes have properly adjusted, I heave myself out of the tunnel and look around. There's the bird, well hidden in a cave not too far off with a mechanism for extracting it from its hiding place. Nobody is around.

"It's clear. Come on up."

I hear Gadget swear and hiss with pain a few times as she clumsily drags herself up the ladder and into the open. I help her stand, noting that a few of her bandages came loose and one of her legs is oozing blood, and half carry her over to the cave.

"We made it…" She whispers, looking back at the tunnel opening as we wait for the others. I busy myself with opening the helicopter and figuring out how to haul it out. Gadget sits in the pilot seat, switching on the engine and working to get the bird in the air the very moment our friends make it out.

I sit in the copilot seat, waiting. Waiting. The suspense burns in my throat and I clench my jaw. Where are they? Where are they?

Gadget seems just as antsy, continuously brushing her hair out of her face and playing with her fingers. Every minute or so, she swears loudly and thumps the side of her hand on the armrest, berating the others, wherever they are, and ordering them to hurry up!

"They'll make it." I finally say, grabbing her hand and nodding. I'm reassuring myself just as much as I'm trying to calm her. "They'll make it."

As if on queue, Terrance's head pops up out of the tunnel exit, spotting us in the already started helicopter and shouting down to the others. He disappears.

"What the hell are they doing?" Gadget demands in impatience, literally on the edge of her seat, trying to see.

Terrance reappears, face contorted with effort and strain as he hauls Mactavish up out of the hole. They stagger along together, shortly followed by Captain Price. Nikolai is the last to follow, aiming his gun down the hole for a few moments and firing.

Gadget swears again and I leap up out of my chair, dashing out of the bird and into the dust, helping Terrance with Mactavish. "What's going on?" I shout, taking the burden as Terrance hops into the helicopter and reaching down to lift Mactavish up.

"They caught up."

I look over my shoulder to see Price and Nikolai slamming the hatch shut.

"We've gotta move!" Price shouts, racing over and diving into the helicopter to help Terrance hoist Mactavish onto the cot inside and strap him down. Nikolai comes along shortly after him, giving me a silent nod and climbing in as well, shooing Gadget out of the pilot seat. "We've gotta go. NOW." A strong arm reaches down and drags me into the safety of the aircraft and Terrance slams the door shut behind me.

I lay on the floor, panting from the adrenaline, and feel the helicopter take to the sky.

For a moment, all there is in the large helicopter is the sound of heavy breathing and the awkward shuffle of feet. Gadget limps over to the window and looks down. "They were right behind you guys…they almost got us."

I drag myself off the floor and join her. Sure enough, I can just barely see the group of invaders as they spill out into the desert sun. Bastards. My forehead falls against the window and I try to gain control of my breathing. "That was too close…way too close…"

"Does anyone need medical attention?" Terrance speaks up, taking charge once again.

"Check on Emily's legs. Price will look over Tavish." Nikolai says, his voice strained and hoarse.

Terrance takes Emily by the arm and leads her over to one of the seats, letting her sit down before propping her legs up. He grunts thoughtfully, hands gently moving along her thighs, examining the bandages. I shift and look away, slightly embarrassed that I'm actually jealous about something as silly as that. He's just taking care of her. I glance over my shoulder and eye his hand, which is now resting where her shorts end as he digs through one of the compartments to find gauze.

Damn it. I look out the window and try not to think about it.

"Mactavish is looking okay. He's just about passed out though. Is there any kind of medication we can give him?" Price asks Nikolai, readjusting the Scot's bandage before turning to the pilot. Nikolai looks over his seat at the two captains and frowns in thought.

"Da. Check the compartment under the cot. There may be something in there."

Price obeys, stooping down and digging around for a moment. "Ghost, help me with this, will you?

"Yes, sir." I hurry over and hold the IV bag up as he carefully inserts the needle in Soap's arm. I hand it over to Price whenever he motions for it and step away to give him room.

"Sveta…Sveta's dead…" Gadget pipes up, surprising all of us.

"Yes." Terrance sighs and sits down, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands over his hair. "Sveta's dead."

Gadget seems to wrestle with this for a while, frowning at her destroyed legs. "And it's our fault."

Nobody argues with her. We're all too tired. And maybe…

Well…

I think we all agree with her.

#%$#&^%$^%#$%#$^$%&%$%$

**Did I do okay? I sure hope so…you guys deserve a great chapter for waiting around so long for it. I typed it all in one sitting, so I hope it's all right. **

**I really need reviews.**

**Yeah, yeah, I know. I **_**ALWAYS **_**say I need reviews. But this time I'm serious. If I don't get enough inspiration for the quickly approaching end of this story then it may just flop.**

**Please, please, PLEASE review. **

**Anonymous reviews are welcome :D**


	21. Without A Doubt Part 1

**Allllllllllll righty then. Here we goooooo! :D**

**Thanks for reviews, messages, and all other support. *****hugs all readers*******

**#%^&%$^*&(*%$#!%&^*#!$%^&$#%&*^^$&$^#**

**[WELCOME New User]**

**{LOCATE New Target}**

**{TARGET Corporal Emily 'Gadget' Robins}**

**[NOTICE!]**

**[TARGET STATUS; DECEASED]**

**{OVERRIDE}**

**{LOCATE Corporal Emily 'Gadget Robins}**

**[TARGET Located]**

**[LOADING]**

**(Gadget's Point Of View)**

**(Forced From War, Into Peace)**

I blink sleepily, shifting to rest my head on Ghost's shoulder. We're alone now. He tilts his head and rests his cheek on my head, sighing deeply and moving to pull me closer. It's quiet. A lot quieter than either of us are used to. But…it's nice. Welcome, even. I run my hand up his chest and rest it on his sternum, feeling his strong heartbeat. I smile. A bit more than a week ago I was almost certain I'd never feel that resilient thumping ever again.

Ghost moves again and I look up at him. He's smiling, I can tell from the wrinkles around his eyes, and I return the gesture. We settle down again, my fingers tracing lazy patterns along his shirt and his hand grasping my hip reassuringly. I lean in closer, bringing my lips to the little of his neck that's exposed. Ghost's grip tightens for a moment before it relaxes completely and slides up my side and back down again, rubbing gently.

I pull away and tug at his mask. "This needs to come off," I whisper, locking eyes with his.

"Gadget, we can't, not here." He argues, causing me to huff and rest against him once more.

We're still in the large helicopter, with the others, but it's so large we've sectioned off small areas. Let's face it. We've been living in close quarters for weeks. We were all getting a bit claustrophobic being shoved into an even smaller space (especially Terrance, who usually kept away from us at Sveta's house) and this was the best way to divert any harsh feelings. Curtains were drawn between each little 'room'. It's all the privacy we're gonna get.

"Besides, you keep forgetting that we're both in pretty bad shape."

I grumble and bury my face in his shoulder. I hate living close quarters. At least back at the base we could—

"Don't you miss me?" I ask, lifting my head to look up at him.

Ghost sighs and nods. "You have no idea…" He trails off. I smile wickedly and kiss that little bit of his neck again, eliciting an irritated groan from him. "Gadget, cut it out. Not here."

I pout again, swearing, and sit up. "This sucks."

"Tell me about it."

**The Next Morning **

I wake up on the floor of the helicopter. Ghost is next to me, his arm holding me firmly to his side. I grin. He'll never admit it, but he's a serious cuddler. I wiggle out of his grip and stand up, with some difficulty, stretching my sore limbs and groaning. I hate sleeping on the floor of aircraft even more than I hate living close quarters. The vertebrae in my back pop as I twist and I sigh in appreciation. That feeling never get's old, arthritis be damned. Ghost stirs and blinks his eyes open, grumbling and rolling over, pulling our pathetic excuse for a blanket over his head.

"C'mon, lazy bones, get up." I order, sitting down on the bench and massaging my knees. This hurts like hell, still, but there's no way I'm letting Terrance give me any medication. I like being completely conscious for more than five hours a day, thank you!

Ghost whines and flops onto his stomach, putting the pillow over his head. At least he slept without the mask. "I don't want to."

I laugh at him, "Come on, get up."

"No."

"I _will_ come down there."

Ghost rolls on to his back and grins at me broadly, spreading his arms. "Who said I wouldn't enjoy that?"

"You're insufferable!" I giggle. But the smile slowly fades from my face as my thoughts turn towards more pressing matters. Sveta and Sean stick out in my mind and I wonder what could have happened to them. Sveta had been so kind the whole time we were there. I owed her my life. We all owed her our lives. She'd taken care of four total strangers (two of which were the most wanted men in the world) without a complaint. No questions asked.

I frown deeply. Who just does that with no motive? Apparently, she'd been doing it for years. That's how Nikolai had met her. That's how he'd known she was trustworthy. I roll an imaginary object around in my mouth, trying to make sense of the Russian enigma. She was young, pretty, smart. Sveta wasn't some soft do-gooder without a trace of common sense, like most 'multinational hospital' workers were. She wasn't aiming to better the world. Hell, Sveta didn't even seem to be trying to prove anything to anyone else.

Maybe Sveta was some sort of guardian angel sent to protect so many in their time of need. Perhaps, beneath it all, she was purely good. I squint my eyes and try to picture Sveta with wings and a halo. The image doesn't seem right. I add a harp. Much better. Pretty, blonde-haired, bright eyed angel Sveta, cussing out Terrance and hitting him over the head with a harp.

But I'm getting off track.

Sveta wasn't an idiot. So, why would she risk so much for the safety of possibly dangerous people? She could've lived a great life on her own, without her little 'infirmary', without having fugitives like Nikolai hanging around, without so much stress, without all the hardship. She could've gone to school somewhere or traveled, she could've been anyone she wanted to be.

And I feel partially responsible for her lost life…

I mean, I may as well face facts, right? We were the reason Sveta's house was stormed by the Shadow Company. They're after _us. _They left her and her little operation alone, not really caring about some young woman in the middle of the desert trying to piece together the lives of the wounded.

My jaw clenches as I think about her death.

Ghost seems to sense my change and mood and peels one eye open.

"Hey, Gadget?"

"Hmm?" I lift my head and look down at him, trying to ward off the thoughts of our lost friend, albeit unsuccessfully.

Ghost drags himself off the floor, stretching his arms above his head. My eyes comb over his shirtless form, taking in the rippling muscles of his torso and reminding myself that this is a serious situation. Ghost, however, makes things worse by sitting down next to me and draping his arm across my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side.

"I know this doesn't make any sense…but," He gazes down at me, holding my eyes for all of two seconds before shuddering and looking away. It takes me a moment, but I realize why.

His reflection in my irises; he's seeing things again. I reach up and touch the side of his face gently, my fingers brushing against the most obvious scar on him. I frown, running my thumb along it, finally looking at his face again. The bruises are looking a bit better…a bit yellow around the edges, but better than that sickly purple. The scratches and burns are closing, thanks in no small part to our time at Sveta's.

Ghost's eyes are focused on my legs, following the patterns of the stitches.

The next thing he says carries such profound reluctance, "Maybe we…that is…just you and I…well…" Ghost has never been one to stutter or be unsure of himself like he is right now. He's fidgeting, running his hands along each other and never taking his stare away from my destroyed legs. It's making me a bit nervous. "I'm talking hypothetically, all right? How would you feel, hypothetically, if we—just you and I—were to…disappear for a while?"

My brow furrows immediately. Ghost wants to…disappear? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well. We could try living civilian lives. Y'know, get fake names and papers, buy a house, I'll get a job…we could try the undercover thing…"

I nearly jump out of my skin, sitting up, straight as a board, and staring wide eyed at Ghost.

Did he just…?

Is he suggesting…?

This must be a joke…!

Could he mean…?

"Do you mean…forget about Makarov...?" My voice gives away my own confusion, wavering at a strange octave and cutting off without sounding complete.

Ghost shifts again. Lord, this is so uncomfortable. He fiddles with the bandage around his wrist, gritting his teeth, his eyebrows pull together in a deep frown. He's struggling to find words to explain himself.

"…Do you want to give it up?" I whisper, leaning away from Ghost, examining his expression, trying desperately to get a handle on his thoughts. He looks away quickly, finding the wrinkles in the blanket on the floor far more interesting than our conversation. I'm baffled, completely gobsmacked. And…angry. Not enraged or furious or anything…maybe it's not even anger. Confusion is a big part of it.

How?

How could he say that? After all we've been through as a team, he wants to run away together and leave our captains and our mission behind. I want to demand an answer, maybe cuss Ghost out for good measure, maybe turn this into a full out fight…

But then I recall what Price said. I'm not supposed to make my want for revenge against Shepherd my focus...he said I have to try to give it up a bit. It can't become an obsession, I mustn't let it.

…or maybe it's too late.

Maybe I'm already obsessed.

For a moment, I imagine Ghost and I living off in the city somewhere. We'd have regular jobs. We'd have to go food shopping, take out the trash, wash dishes, pay bills, and all those other annoying little tasks that are in day-to-day civilian life. We'd have the nights off to do whatever we wanted with them. We could go to the theatre and see a show or head to the cinema and catch a movie. We could go out to eat. We could take a vacation to the countryside. We could live.

We could _really _live.

I bite my lip and thought as these images run through my mind. Do I want that? Do I want to give up my current life, my whole past? To wipe my slate clean would also mean giving up all my connections. I'd have to say goodbye to Mactavish and Price and Nikolai. There would be no visits. A clean break. It'd have to be total, no more connection. No contact. No calls. Nothing.

To give up the Captains and our beloved Russian pilot would mean giving up what's left of the team. It would mean giving up the chance to go after Makarov…

Revenge.

The draw is too delicious to resist.

"Ghost—Simon, look at me." I whisper, reaching up and touching his arm. He twists away, making his best effort to ignore my plea. I place my hand on the far side of his face and try to make him listen to me. "…Please, look at me…"

Simon Riley sighs deeply and allows me to turn his head to look at me. His eyes flit over my face, avoiding my eyes. I become more persistent and move into his line of vision. Our eyes lock and Ghost grips my shoulder tightly, searching my eyes for any sign of a memory or a flash from his past.

"He's dead, Simon. He's dead."

He looks away and nods slowly, mulling over his personal thoughts for a minute or two.

"Just because someone is dead doesn't mean they're gone."

**[SIGNAL INTERRUPTED]**

**[…]**

**{RELOAD System}**

**[LOADING]**

**[PLEASE STANDBY]**

**[…]**

**[SYSTEM Reboot Complete]**

**{FIND Target 14130a}**

**[TRACKING; Standby]**

_**[NOTICE; LOAD WILL TAKE 365 DAYS.]**_

_**IMPORTANT!**_

_**365 DAYS LATER.**_

_**12 MONTHES**_

_**1 YEAR**_

**[TRACKING Complete]**

**[LOADING Target 14130a]**

**{DISPLAY Location}**

**[LOCATING]**

**[TARGET 14130a;]**

**[LOCATED Simon 'Ghost' Riley]**

**[LOCATION; London, England]**

**[WARNING]**

**[SYSTEM OVERRIDE]**

**[UNABLE TO CANCEL]**

**[WARNING]**

**[SYSTEM BEING SHUT DOWN FROM ANOTHER SOURCE]**

**[WARNING]**

**[MULTIPLE VIRUSES DETECTED]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS FAILING]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS FAILING]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS FAILING]**

**[WARNING]**

**{{{Connection lost}}}**

"Simon, I'm home!" I shut the door behind me and wipe my feet on the mat, shaking rain off of my coat and onto the linoleum. It's rainy here…all the time. I always liked rain, but never enough to want to have it around consistently. Simon likes it though. He's just used to it I guess…but where the hell is he?

"Simon? Simon?" I call, clomping through the hallways. Frowning, I poked my head into our bedroom. "Simon?"

He's draped across the bed, pressing his finger to his lips and listening intently to whoever is on the other line on his cell phone. I nod, hushing myself, and continue down the hall to the kitchen. Odd. Simon's not usually on the phone…let alone listening to a conversation so closely that he won't even tell me to be quiet…

I shrug my coat off and hang it on the hook next to the back door and open up the fridge…dinner. Hmm. Well, maybe chicken? No, I'm always making that. I could just make breakfast food…

"I got another call from Nikolai." Simon enters and leans against the counter, frowning deeply.

"Hello to you too," I smile, pulling my head out of the fridge. The smile drops the moment I see the look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Trouble with those mercenaries again. He had to move his family further into the mountains. He doesn't know how much longer it'll be before he has to cut off communications with us. Says he hasn't heard from Price in over two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"Yeah. He usually touches base every five or six days," Simon pushes away from the counter and begins rifling through the cabinets. He extracts a cutting board and stares at it for a moment or so before putting it on the counter and going back to searching.

I frown. "What else?"

Simon doesn't answer. I advance on him and touch his arm, panic beginning to take seed in my heart.

"Simon, what else did Nikolai say?"

"He thinks…well…there's the possibility that Price is out. Whether he's been killed or captured or went AWOL is hard to—"

I sock Simon in the shoulder; not intending to actually do any damage, just to make him stop. "Don't say that! Price is fine. He has to be. And don't even _think _about saying he's ditched us, Simon, so help me—"

"So help you what? Face it, Emily, not everyone is as dedicated to the 141 like you are—"

"That doesn't matter! This isn't about the one four one any more! It's about—"

Simon slams the rag he's holding onto the counter and turns on me. "You know that this is _everything _to do with the one four one! You know that! Ever since we split up with the team all you can think about is getting back to them and—"

"That isn't true!"

We've been fighting a lot, actually. Not full out fights, mind you. There's never any screaming or breaking things or throwing nasty names at one another. Arguing…I guess that's the better word. It's not always easy. Sometimes Simon sleeps on the couch and refuses to come to bed until I come out and talk him into it. Every now and then I get to drinking or smoking or some other unhealthy habit like staying up all-night and sleeping all day. I know it's stupid and childish of me, but I'll be damned before I quit.

"You _know _it's true! It's been a year since we came to live here, Emily! A year! And all you've done is hide out in this goddamned house and wait. That's _it!_" I open my mouth to speak, to defend myself, to say _something_ to save a little face. Before I can, Simon holds his hand up and silences me. "Don't you dare say you haven't been! This has _everything _to do with Tavish and Price and Nikolai and Roach and all the others!" He's loud now. Really loud. Not quite shouting…just loud, like when an actor on stage is trying to be heard by the back row. My heart hammers in my chest as anger rises within me. I turn on my heels and start to march away. I'm so sick of being lectured. I'm so sick of being cooped up in this house. I'm so sick of not having a purpose. I'm sick of limping and above all I'm sick of—Simon's hand closes around my wrist and pulls me around to face him. He's really mad now. Really and truly mad, "I've been patient. I thought that you'd recover, like the others did, and I thought you'd realize that you haven't lost everything! We're still alive…" His voice dies in his throat as I tear away from him.

"_**It's not just about us anymore, Simon!"**_ I yell at the top of my voice. That stops us both in our tracks. I don't press a hand over my mouth or try to take it back or anything. Because I mean it. I really do. I stare up at Simon, daring him to keep going. We're both tense as bungee cords. "It's not about us anymore. It's beyond that. It's the whole world now! It's not about you or me or Price or Roach or even the whole one four one. It's not even just about America anymore. It's the whole world! I still care for everyone and I love you, but I'm done focusing on us. There's more than the one four one and Shadow Company and America. Now it's everything."

We stand in silence.

The funny thing about Simon when he's silent is that I can always tell what's running through his head. He just gets a sort of misty look in his eyes and I just know. But right now…right now there's nothing. He's blocked me out. Just like he's blocked everyone out. We stand here for hours on end in silence and in stiffness and in anger.

"It's not about the world to you, Gadget," Simon's voice is flat and steady. He knows. He believes in what he's saying. "It's about Makarov."

He brushes by me, knocking into my shoulder as he does, and goes into the bath. I hear the shower turn on not a minute later and I sigh heavily. Grand. Guess he'll be on the couch tonight. Or…

I head into our bedroom and slip out of my t-shirt and slacks. I stand in the center of our room for a moment, my eyes scanning around for my nightgown. Our room is always terribly clean, but I can't ever remember where anything is. Weird, I know, but I can't. I honestly can't. Finally, I spot it, hanging in my side of the closet between my old jeans and a button up office shirt I bought the first month we moved here. I gingerly step into the silk gown and pull it up. I hear the water shut off in the bathroom and I head over to the bed, grab up that quilt (Simon is always complaining about it's horrible color, but I honestly like it), and march into the living room.

I click the lamp off with a little snap of the chain and curl up on the couch with the quilt and a throw pillow. I listen as Simon opens the bathroom door and walks into the bedroom, not noticing me on the couch. He goes in and I can hear him getting ready, changing his clothes, banging around in drawers, and, finally, snapping off the lamp. I sigh and roll over, surprisingly comfortable, and let myself drift off.

Not even five minutes later I hear the bedroom door open. I blink rapidly and look over my shoulder, meeting Simon's sad gaze. "What?" I ask groggily, tempted to roll back over and ignore him.

"Come to bed, love." Love. He always calls me that when he's trying to soften me up or get me away from the bottle. Love. Hah. Almost as old a nickname as Gadget. "Please? Emily, you know that I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

I snort and roll over stubbornly. "We're fighting, remember?"

Tired footsteps cross the living room floor and stop next to my resting place. A warm hand rests on my side and his lips come to the shell of my ear. "Please?" His breath tickles my ear and I try not to squirm. His hand travels up my hip and all the way to my cheek, turning my face to look up at him. I frown. "Please, love? I'd feel bad if you slept out here alone."

I almost say 'okay' and get up and grab the quilt and nestle down into bed with him and go to sleep, but I remind myself that we're fighting and giving up now would mean he would win. I can't let myself do that. So, I look away from him and curl closer to myself, and try to ignore his warmth.

He's silent for a minute.

"You know I'm right."

"So?"

"Come to bed."

"No."

Simon straightens and storms over to the bedroom door and calls back, "I'm right about Makarov, too!" and slams it shut behind him.


	22. Without A Doubt Part 2

Roach curls up to me and nestles his forehead in the crook of my neck. I laugh and shove him off. "You're like a cat, you know that?"

He laughs too. I always loved that bug's laugh. It's just carefree and kinda forces you to smile. I sit up and rub my eyes, looking around the living room and stretching my arms over my head. "I'm not a cat. I'm a bug. Obviously." He crosses his arms and mock pouts, pulling that ugly quilt over his head.

I roll my eyes and tug it off of him. "You're not a bug. You're a roach," I knock my knuckles into his chin lightly and that perks him up real quick.

"That's right. I'm a roach. And roaches are damn hard to kill. Hell, for all we know it may be impossible!"

Roach stands and stretches, his back popping delightfully, then reaches down and helps me up too. I crack my neck. Boy, I hate mornings. Especially since Ghost and Roach and I left the others. It's sort of lonely around here. If it weren't for mornings when it's real quiet and there's nowhere to be, I'd be fine, but there are mornings…and mornings are really lonely.

"I wouldn't say impossible." I tease, flopping back onto the couch, too lazy to actually do anything. Doing things would be good for me…but I'm too lazy to. I'm tired. Really really tired. It seems like I'm always tired these days.

"Yeah…not impossible…there's one thing that works for sure." He looms over me, suddenly seeming more intensified. I try to look down and toy with that damn quilt, but his venom green eyes glue me in place. I can't look away. I can't move. He steps forward, too close. He grows forty feet. He grins vehemently and shakes his head.

Roach moves his mouth, but it's Makarov's voice that echoes through the house. "Fire."

All at once Roach is Roach again, regular, boyish, cheerful Roach. I swallow hard and stare at him, eyes widened with horror. He looks around, confused. "What?"

"N-Nothing…I-I-I'm just…tired is all."

"Oh. Well all ri—"

A massive plume of fire shoots from his mouth and black, heavy smoke begins to fill the air. I gasp, trying to get oxygen into my lungs, but the stench is too much, the smoke too thick. I try to get away, I really do, but I'm rooted to the spot still. Roach grabs his throat with his hand and doubles over, the flames crawling over his facial features. He screams. I watch in horror as his curly brown hair flares up, melting to his scalp. He screams. I wretch. He grips my leg. "Gad-Gadget…Help!" I try to move, try to help him, I do, I really do. I try. I try! "Please! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!" The fire eats its way down the nape of his neck and to his army fatigues, consuming the fabric and adding to the brooding smoke in the air. I can barely see the haze. "PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE! GADGET! HELP ME! HELP PLEASE! PLEASE!"

He collapses and grips my ankles, sobbing and gasping for air and burning and…melting.

"Hold on, Roach! I'm trying! I'm trying!" I fight the strange gravity holding me against the cushions of the couch, "Hold on! Just hang on! I'll help you! I'll save you!"

"PLEASE! GADGET! DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Tears sting my eyes and I growl with the effort as I try to force myself away from the pull, but every time I move it drags me in tighter, pressing against my chest, suffocating me. I scream. Roach convulses helplessly on the floor, trying to extinguish the blaze.

"SAVE ME! SAVE ME! PLEASE! SAVE ME!"

I struggle and flail and fight and scream and howl and strain myself with the effort. My eyes water from all the ash in the air and the stench of burning flesh. Roach's voice begins to die away.

"GADGET! PLEASE! Gad-Gadget! PLEASE H-Help…please…please…" It doesn't die in urgency, but the flames are eating the sound of his voice. His skin begins to melt, crackling and glowing in the fire. I scream. He screams. It seems like all we can do is scream at one another and at the fire and at the world. My voice cracks into sob as he begins to grow weaker.

"NO! NO NO NO! NOT YOU TOO! NOT YOU TOO BUG! PLEASE ROACH, PLEASE NOT YOU!" I scream, fighting ever harder against the invisible force. He gags and screams silently and begs to be saved. I begin to sob, harder and harder, shaking from the force of my unsteady breath and desperate cries. "NOT YOU ROACH! NOT YOU!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the crackling of the fire and the sound of Roach's dying wheezes. Slowly, painfully so, they fade. I squint down at the rug and see nothing. Nothing. No ashes. No burn marks. No Roach. I frown and move to rub my eyes. I can't get my arms up. I look down at them and see a more muscular pair wrapped tightly around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides. Simon. I timidly look up and meet his eyes.

"It was a bad dream." He says shortly. Sweat dots his forehead and he seems to deflate, sinking into the couch and throwing his forearm over his eyes.

I take a forlorn glance at the clock. Three in the morning. I frown. "I was…having a bad dream…"

"That's right." He mumbles, not moving.

"And...I was just asleep…It…It wasn't real."

Simon lifts his arm a bit and stares at me, studying my face as if to make sure I was conscious. "What wasn't real?"

"R-Roach wasn't real."

He pulls me down so I'm laid across his chest. His shirt has tears on it. My tears. A lot of them. They splashed along his torso and left large wet shapes on him. Simon reaches behind his head and snaps the light on. "Roach was real, Emily, but he's gone."

"No, I know that, I mean—I mean _that _Roach." I gesture towards the spot on the carpet where Roach's charring body had been…had appeared to be, I remind myself quickly.

Simon's arms wrap around my waist and press me into him, holding me as close as he can manage. "Emily…" He sighs and runs his fingers though his hair. I've always liked being close to Simon. Something about him is so calming. I feel…safe. But who wouldn't feel safe cuddled up to one of the toughest military men in the entire world? For now, I forget that we're fighting and that I'm mad at him and that he's tugging that quilt he hates over us. I ignore all of that. For now, it's just us. I'm okay with that. Simon's chest rises and falls beneath my ear. I listen to his heart, closing my eyes in spite of myself and rest my mind. It's too early to think about the dead. It's too early to feel alone. It's been a year since their deaths, but only minutes since a new wound was opened. I need Simon right now. "Talk to me, love."

Love. He's always calling me love when he wants something from me.

I open my eyes. I lift my head. I reluctantly meet Simon's gaze. I sigh deeply, not wanting to explain the nightmare but knowing that I have to. His hand rests at the small of my back and presses me close. I like being close to him. Forget fighting. I need this. Call me selfish, call me a bitch, but I want this. I want this, dammit, and I'm gonna let myself talk about it. Or it'll kill me. I sigh and rest my forehead in the crook of his neck and start explaining. I tell him about waking up to Roach in the living room. I tell him about being tired. Being really, really, really tired. I tell him about the fire and hearing Makarov's voice.

Simon stays quiet the entire time, thoughtfully trailing his hand up and down my back. Whenever I get to the more gruesome details he stiffens beneath me. Simon's fingers dig slightly into my back, clutching the fabric of my nightgown. I lift my head to look at him. He's frowning deeply, looking rather perplexed.

"Have you had dreams like this before?" Concern laces his voice.

I don't really know what to make of the question, but I decide it can't be anything too nerve wracking. I mean, it's just an innocent little question. "Sometime…I never woke you before, though. I'm fine, it's no big deal, and they're just silly little nightmares—"

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been having these dreams?" I pause. Do I really want to tell him they've been going on for more than a year now? No…do I have a choice? Simon, apparently sensing my hesitance to answer, sits up, pulling me into his lap and letting my cheek rest against his left shoulder. I vaguely remember when—back in what seems like a long time ago—we sat like this for hours, talking. We'd whisper our plans for the future, talk about past events, or poke fun at one another…we'd sometimes just sit and be content to simply be. Now, sitting like this all over again, seems so different. It doesn't feel real. I guess I'm expected to say it doesn't feel right, but it does. Honestly, I feel perfectly right in Simon's arms, close to him, listening to his breath…but…it doesn't feel _real_. "Emily, please, love, tell me."

Love. He's always calling me love when he's trying to soften me up.

"A long time."

"How long?"

"…bout a year now, I guess."

All the air gushes out off Simon's lungs in a short, "Bloody hell," and he sinks back in the couch a bit. "And you never told me? Not a word?"

"It's never been all that bad." Liar.

"But, it's been happening! Why do you insist on hiding things like this from me?"

"They're just silly dreams. They don't bother me." Liar.

"Clearly they do!"

"It's no big deal! I'm fine."

Liar.

!#$$%$%

I taste blood. I spit it into the carpet and hunker further down behind the couch. Simon shouts something from the kitchen, but I can't make out the words. My heart thunders inside of my chest and I breathe in short, labored pants. Simon yells again. I peek over the back of the sofa, straining to see through the smoke. Gunshots. I crouch down again, swearing, wishing with all of my heart that I had a weapon. The bullets hammer into the wall behind me. Plaster and splinters of wood rain down on me. I cough and spit more blood.

We've been ambushed. We stayed in one place for too long. We got too comfortable.

Now we're under attack and we haven't prepared at all.

Without any weapons or other means of defending myself, I can't do anything but hide behind this stupid couch and pray for escape. Simon calls out again, "GADGET! Listen! I have them pinned down, so get your rear into the kitchen! GO!"

Without hesitation I launch myself out of cover and into the hallway towards the kitchen. Bullets wiz passed my head and drill into the walls. One nearly gets me in the foot as I round the corner and dive into the safety of the kitchen. Simon grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. Blood leaks between my lips and I grin at him. "Sorry I'm late."

He rolls his eyes. "Not funny."

A UMP 45 is pressed firmly into my grasp and I smile wider. I really missed being in the action. I honestly did. I go prone and position myself at the entrance of the room, lying in wait. There! Two enemies enter from the hall and I blast a hole in each of them, watching as they tumble to the floor and go limp. "Two down."

"Six more."

"Six?"

A grenade lands between us and Simon lunges at it, scooping it up and hurling it back from whence it came. I hold my breath and cover my head as the frag blows, causing the whole apartment to shake and bits of the ceiling to rain down on us.

"Who are we up against?" I yell over the din, trying my best to keep calm. My hands shake as I ready myself for escape. Simon is over at the telephone. "Simon! Who the hell are we up against?" I howl.

"I have no idea! Just shoot anyone who shoots at you!"

"Right!"

I return my attention to the men in the hall, trying to decipher what language their speaking. Russian. Bastards must be with Makarov. "Simon! We gotta get out of here!"

"I bloody well know that already! Give me a moment, yeah?"

"Hurry!"

"Nikolai! We need an escape vehicle! There's a group here armed with weapons like the ones who came after you, we think it may have something to do with Makarov, I—"

From down the street there is a loud bang and the sound of screaming civilians. I forget about the men in the hall and run to the window. Billowing green clouds seep out of an exploded van, slowly creeping along the pavement. I watch in horror as everyone in the vicinity of the gas falls to their knees and begins choking, hacking violently before collapsing completely. I scream and back away from the window. "GHOST!"

Ghost catches me and looks out too, his eyes wide and face getting paler by the moment. He lifts the telephone to his ear.

"Nikolai…scratch that."

**QUE CLIFFHANGER**

**OHHHHHHHHH SNAP!**

**Review please ^-^ **

**Love and Rockets, **

**EGR.**


	23. Without A Doubt Conclusion

_**WARNING! **__**SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVE NOT YET PLAYED MODERN WARFARE THREE IN IT ENTIRETY THEN, FIRST OF ALL **__**WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? **__**SECONDLY, DO **__**NOT **__**READ ANYMORE OF THIS STORY UNTIL YOU HAVE. IT WILL OUTLINE THE GAME AND RUIN YOUR ENTIRE EXPERIENCE. **__**IF YOU ARE TOTALLY COOL WITH KNOWING THE CAMPAIGN PLOT BEFORE PLAYING THE GAME, THEN NO SWEAT. READ ON!**_

"Hold this." Ghost shoves the phone into my hand and hurries into the hall, lying down cover spray as he moves.

"Gadget, what is going on?" Nikolai yells through the receiver, his voice muffled by the sound of chopper blades. "Where are you?"

"We're in the apartment. Eight unidentified targets attacked us and a truck exploded down the street. A green gas is leaking down the street. Nikolai…I think that it's—"

"Put this on." Ghost has magically reappeared next to me (it still gives me a heart attack), holding a bloody gas mask. I frown in confusion. Where did he get a gas mask? "Hurry!" I snatch the mask and pull it into place. Ghost does the same with a second one, taking the telephone from me. "Nikolai, they're using what looks to be poisonous gas in our area. I got a couple of gas masks off of two dead tangos. Where are you?"

"We are in Sierra Leone. We were to intercept an unidentified precious cargo. My friends, it seems as though we were chasing a wild goose here."

I put two and two together, slowly, I admit, but when it all adds up I feel fury build in the pit of my stomach and I grab the phone from Ghost. "What do you mean you were intercepting precious cargo? Nikolai, have you resumed black ops missions without us?"

There's hesitation on the other line for a moment or two. "Da."

I growl in frustration. I don't believe this! Price, Tavish, and Nikolai have gone behind our backs to get Makarov. "Nikolai, come pick us up."

"Gadget, I do not know if that is a very good—"

"It wasn't a request. I want to speak to Price. As soon as possible."

Ghost takes the phone, giving me a look through the gas mask, and turns away, speaking to Nikolai in a hushed voice. I whirl around and march into the hall. "All right, boys, come out and play!" The moment I set foot outside of the kitchen bullets are hammering the walls around me. I move fast, getting into the living room and blowing the head off of one of the men. Five. I duck down and peek around the corner of an armchair. They've all hunkered down near the bathroom, using anything they can for cover. I check my ammo. Damn. Not nearly enough to lay down cover and barely enough to take them down. It's a real gamble to try anything right now, it really is. Odds are I won't come out on top.

But do I really have a choice?

I spring up and take steady aim, picking off one of the men closest to the couch. Another breaks from cover, trying to get a shot at me, and I take him out with ease. This is familiar ground for me. I've been trained to handle this. It's what I live for! I missed it so much, I really did. Vaulting over the armchair, I started charging towards the bathroom, grabbing my knife out of its secret hiding place underneath the hollowed lamp on the side table. I dragged one guy out from behind the sofa and drove the blade into the side of his neck, twisting it roughly before yanking it free. I turn on the bathroom and press my back to the wall and wait. Hushed voices come from inside, though I can't quite make out what they're saying.

Contact! Three of them slip out of cover, all searching for me. I stay quiet for a moment longer, letting them lengthen the gap between us. Now! I fire at the man closest to me, wounding him. I step over his writhing form and grab the other by the shoulder, bringing my knife up to meet his throat. He gurgles and flails pathetically until I shove him away and raise my knife again. The third man is ready for me and grabs my forearm, twisting it backwards painfully and forcing me to drop my blade. He laughs and reaches for his handgun. I track the movement, shifting my momentum to the right and dragging him to the floor.

We tangle ourselves in an intense struggle for the gun. He's far stronger than I am (most men are, I admit) but I'm just a bit quicker. I manage to get on top of him, straddling his chest and digging my elbow into his throat. He wretches and tries to shove me off, so I dig my knees into his sides and press harder. Gagging and gasping and flailing, the man beneath me tries his hardest to get me off. I won't let him. I won't let him! I won't die! Not here! Not over this!

I let up for a moment to wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing with all the strength I've got. I put all my weight into my upper arms, pushing down harder, harder! I have to do this! He struggles more, trying weakly to save himself. I won't let him! Slowly, he life leaves him. He gives up. With one last weak groan, he's dead. I pant and release the pressure on his throat, wiping the sweat from my hands onto his jacket.

Hands wrap around my arms from behind and drag me backwards. I scream and try to grab my knife from the floor, but it's too late. The last man abandoned his hiding place in the hall to take care of me. He pins me against the wall and raises his fist. I start to grab his pistol from the holster at his side. A punch connects with my lower stomach and all the air rushes out of my lungs. I grunt and try to straighten up, but another blow comes, harder than before. Gagging, I lean into the wall and try to sort out which way is up and which is down, but I'm sent reeling again by a hit to the jaw. Blood trickles out of my mouth and I reach up and straighten my gas mask.

The man backs off for a moment, lifting his gun to my forehead and grinning through his mask at me. I brace myself for death, for the end, for blood. I close my eyes and grit my teeth and think about all I'm losing.

BANG!

There's a loud thud. I peek out of my clenched eyelids and see the last enemy on the floor, in a pool of his own blood. I exhale in relief and crouch down, seizing his pistol and ammo. "Nice of you to join the party."

"I figured you'd have it handled," Ghost casually saunters in and examines my handiwork. There's blood everywhere and my knife is soaked in it up to the handle. He spots the corpse that I killed with my bare hands and stoops down next to it. "Ya strangle this one?"

"Had to. He beat me in hand-to-hand and got my knife off of me. I had to drag him onto the floor and choke him. Why?"

"There's bruises on his neck! You really got a knack for bare hand destruction, Gadge." He chuckles humorlessly and stands up. "We don't have time to clean up in here, Nikolai sent Terrance to pick us up."

"Oh that reminds me," I turn around and kick the wall, "They resumed working without us! I don't believe it! When I get my hands on Price I am going to ring _his_ neck! All that bull about not being revenge hungry! And then they leave us! I can't believe it! After all the shit we've been through together, those three just run off and forget about us—"

"Gadget, I hate to interrupt a rather entertaining rant, but we've got to get out of here. The whole city is dirty with this gas and God only knows when we'll get another chance to get out of here. Nikolai said that Terrance will only be able to keep under the radar for three minutes after he gets within the city limits, so we've got to get to the LZ immediately. Understand?"

I huff. "Fine. I'm still ringing his neck though!"

"I'll help."

31242534513432134

"JUMP!" Ghost yells, leaping from the side of the building and disappearing from view.

"If I had a dollar for every time I hurled myself off of a ledge…" I throw myself over the edge and watch as the helicopter quickly closes in. Well, I guess I'm closing in on the helicopter…whatever. I reach out as far as my arms can stretch and start praying that someone will be able to grab me. I fall, watching as the helo passes. The world seems to shift into a slower gear. I can see the chopper blades moving much slower than they should be. Ghost's hands wrap around my wrist and he leans out of the bird, trying to slow my momentum enough to pull me in. Another pair of gloved hands reaches out and nearly misses me, but the soldier falls onto his stomach and grabs my upper arm. And then everything's fast again and I'm screaming and dangling from a helicopter that's hovering a million feet above the ground.

"We've got her! Terrance, hold it steady while we bring her in! On three! One, two," I'm being pulled up at a much faster pace than I expected and I end up on the floor of the helo before I can blink. "Go! Get us out of here before anyone spots us!"

The helicopter lurches and I slide along the floor about a half a foot before someone drags me to my feet.

"It's good seeing you again, Miss Robins."

"That's Steven Hawkins." I say, turning around to come face to face with an old friend of mine. He gives me that movie star grin of his and nods enthusiastically, clearly pleased I remembered him. "I can't believe it! Steven, it's been so long!"

"Too long, if you asked me, Miss Robins. It's good to see you and the lieutenant are still in one piece." I'm half-expecting Steven to kiss my hand by the way he's looking at me through his mask, but surprisingly, he doesn't. Instead, the actor turns to the pilot seat and begins talking to Terrance. "ETA to safe zone?"

"About two hours. If we're lucky and I don't have to sneak around anything, one and 30 minutes."

"Excellent. Miss Robins, lieutenant," Steven gives us each a curt nod and sits down, putting on a headset and focusing on a little notebook, scribbling down messages at a high speed.

Ghost and I exchange a silent look before settling into our seats. I readjust my gas mask, staring down at London through the green haze caused by the poison. "Twenty bucks says this has to do with Makarov."

"Not gonna argue on that one."

94285324503289053459058902

"ETA 30 seconds."

"Thanks Terrance," I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, yawning and cracking my neck. It's a bad habit, I know, but it's mine. Deal with it. I hop up; gather my weapons and strap on my Kevlar. Ghost, already equipped with his ACR, stands next to me. "Where are we landing?"

"Prague. Czech Republic." Terrance explains, "Makarov is having a sit down with several of his men in a hotel there. Kamarov, a friend of your dear Captain's, joined up with us. We're going to position some snipers in the church tower across the square. Easy job, no sweat."

"Yeah, no sweat." I repeat. How many times have I gone on a 'no sweat mission' and nearly gotten killed? A few dozen…probably more… Nearly everything we do is a 'no sweat mission'.

Nearly everything we do can get us killed.

Ghost pulls on his balaclava as we land, earning a strange look from Steven. Terrance, however, pays us no attention, hopping out of the bird and tossing the keys to a man on the side of the dirt road. "We go this way. Lay low. We're tourists."

"Tourists with guns and bullet proof vests," Ghost chides.

"Lay low, skull." Terrance smirks. "We'll be fine."

Turns out, he was right. We make it to the church in complete silence; no one gives us a second glance. Terrance and Steven lay out the perfect cover. I didn't put it together at first, but now it makes perfect sense. Steven's a movie star on vacation, out seeing the sights, relaxing. Terrance is his guide; he knows all the hotspots, the clubs. He knows where to go. Ghost and I, we're the bodyguards. It's perfect.

At least that's what it is to the public media.

To the enemy soldiers in the city, we're an important group of people. I've learned that if you bull shit well enough you can get through anything without too much issue. To anyone else; we're one of them.

Ghost seems to catch on to it too, taking on the role flawlessly. I do my best to follow suit, but I can't help feeling on edge. Something isn't quite right. I shake the notion though, focusing on the task at hand. Makarov is so close. If I can just get Price to let me be the one to take him out…

"This way, Mr. Hawkins. The church is one of Prague's finest examples of architecture." Terrance turns down an alleyway and we slip in behind him. Ghost watches our six and I keep my eyes on all the windows. No contact. We're safe. Either way, Terrance lowers his voice to avoid eavesdropping. "Gadget, you watch our ass. Ghost, watch for any sign of trouble in the sky. Steven, this way." He lifts an arm and knocks on the wall. A trapdoor swings open and the muzzle of an assault rifle pokes through.

"Easy, sir, it's us." Hawkins holds his arms up in surrender.

"Gave us quite a start there, Hawkins. Thought you were someone else." Scottish. It's Mactavish. I give up watching our six and march right up to the door, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "Gad—"

"What exactly was running through your head when you thought it would be a good idea to leave us in that stinking apartment while you and Price went back to saving the world without us?" I say calmly. I'm met with stunned silence, both from Mactavish and the men behind me. I huff and wait for an answer, making it clear that I'm not at all entertained.

We're ushered inside and we seat ourselves on a couple of wooden pews, keeping silent and merely looking at one another; I'm more along the lines of glaring to be honest. I know it's wrong to be mad, I know that, but the anger is chewing at my insides like acid. The feeling of betrayal is an underlying simmer that's coming closer and closer to the lines of a boil with every passing minute. How could they just leave us like that? Thoughts of lies and lost chances at extinguishing Makarov swirl in my belly, making me tense, thickening the haze of anger. How dare they leave us? It was our goal as much as theirs to eradicate that mad man. Why did they leave us? How dare they? I keep telling myself they didn't mean it like that, there has to be some logical reason, and that I have to stop thinking this way. It's stupid, childish. But it's there.

It's definitely there.

"Good to see you again Gadget, Ghost." Price. I'd recognize that voice even if I were caught in enemy mortar fire while suffering from the effects of a flash bang. My anger flares up again, albeit slightly. I have to remind myself to keep calm. This may be my only chance to get to Makarov. But the wheels in my head are turning rapidly. After all that bull about laying low and licking our wounds, here he is, without us, hunting Makarov with a rag-tag army of rebels. 'It's not about revenge': bullshit! This is revenge! He wants it just as much as I do, _needs _it as much as I do. It's always been about revenge. I stare at him as blankly as I can for a moment or so before looking away silently and fiddling with my gas mask._ Liar, _I think to myself. It's wrong and horrible and rude and bitchy to bethinking like this. But I am, okay? It's how I feel. I'm sorry for it, sure, but it's still how I feel.

I stand up and brush past Price, not wanting the others to see how this affects me. It's probably too late to hide it from them, but I don't care, I have to move, to get something done. If that means raiding our supplies for a good gun and carving some sort of ridiculous name into the barrel, so be it. I can live with that.

"Gadget," Price's tone is warning and I begrudgingly turn to face him.

"Yes, sir?" I keep my voice respectful. I keep any rude or mocking tone out of my voice and focus on keeping myself in line. _This is the only way to get to Makarov_, I remind myself. _Put the past behind you._

The aging captain regards me shortly, his eyes scanning over my stance. I feel humorously similar to a bug under a microscope, but that makes me think of Roach…so I try to focus on something else. I watch quizzically as Price's gaze lingers on my mutilated legs. Shifting uncomfortably, I try to ignore the feeling of exceptional self-consciousness as I mentally picture the ugly scars stretching like spider webs over my thighs and down to my ankles. The overwhelming need to cover my legs up and never let anyone see them again washes over me. I won't let it show, but those scars have made me very self-conscious.

I had nice legs. Now they're destroyed.

Funny, how the pretty things about me always seem to be destroyed in one-way or another.

I must sound like a lunatic. Who cares about a few scars? Who cares? We're in the middle of a war and I'm thinking about my legs. Well, it's one of those things you don't appreciate until it's gone. Nice legs and breakfast with Alex in the morning, those are the little things I forgot to appreciate. More important things like freedom and my fellow soldiers and life in the Task Force are hard and painful to think about. If I focus on the smaller things I miss, it's a bit easier to cope. It's a trick I like to play on myself. If I pretend my ugly, destroyed, scarred legs that were once sleek and pretty and defined are my biggest problem in life, I'll be okay. Legs are one thing.

Sanity is another.

Mine's probably uglier than my legs…I don't think about that. Just try to shove it to the back of my mind with the Roach and Archer and Meat and Scarecrow…

"Good to have you back."

I snap back into the church. Price nods at me. A slow, easy smile crosses my face. "Good to be back, sir. Now where's a sniper? My trigger finger's itchin'."

"Not so fast, lassie." Mactavish laughs, giving me a friendly thump on the shoulder. "There are still a few hours till the meeting. I thought we could use that time to bring you and Ghost up to speed."

"With all due respect, sir, is it…advisable to discuss this in front of these other men?" Ghost cuts in, eyeing the rag-tag 'army' with light suspicion. The look goes unnoticed by all others in the room, but I've sort of trained myself to read Ghost. Though he has his mask on I can tell just from his eyes (his sunglasses sit, neglected, on the pew he's on) how he's feeling: a useful talent I picked up from living with him for a year.

"My men are honorable." Kamarov. I recognize him from pictures. "They will not flinch in the sight of our enemy."

Nikolai steps up, smiling faintly. "I have given my life to this cause, my friend. Terrance has too." He grabs said pilot by the arm and drags him into the proverbial spotlight. The young man sputters lamely for a moment before grunting his allegiance. I reach out and clap him on the back roughly to lift his spirits. Terrance smiles at me graciously and shuffles back to his pew, lighting a cigarette and balancing it precariously between his lips.

Nodding furiously, Hawkins steps up. "Don't worry about me. I owe the one four one my life, disavowed or otherwise. Especially Miss Robins," My stomach drops to the floor as these words draw the attention of anyone who wasn't already aware of our previous ties. Apparently, Steven feels the need to elaborate on the subject. "She was captured by a drug ring on my account a while back when we were in…Russia was it? I fear it caused more damage to her than I am worth—"

"Let's skip the life story, yeah." I speak up, feeling a bit awkward that he brought that subject into the light. My time as a prisoner in that goddamned 'drug ring' isn't exactly a topic I like to share with people; especially not people like Price and Kamarov.

"Right." Steven corrects himself.

For a moment, it seems like he's taken the hint, but then he opens his mouth to launch into another one of his increasingly infamous apologies, but Mactavish comes forward.

"Now that we're all in agreement," He gives Ghost a pointed look, a signal everyone else misses, "I'd like to introduce you to an ally of ours. He's one of Nikolai's finest soldiers and our recent missions wouldn't have been successful. I'm sure you two heard about Waraabe."

"The bastard from Somalia. Yeah, I heard of him." Ghost sneers. "Didn't he team up with Makarov a while back?"

"Right. We killed him." Price lights up, puffing on a thick cigar. I eye the glowing embers at the end, sorely tempted to ask him for one, but I keep my mouth shut. I never _really _liked cigars anyways. Cigarettes are better. I pat my pocket and scowl a bit whenever I notice I don't have my pack with me. Ah, well.

"It was quite a fight, my friends. I thought for sure I was to die myself." Nikolai winces from the considerably painful memory, "It's a good thing we had Yuri along."

"Yuri is Nikolai's best man," Mactavish adds in response to my confused expression.

Upon the mention of his name Yuri stands. He's tall and muscular with stone grey eyes that have a look of determination about them. The mercenary (I pretty much assume he's a mercenary if he's one of Nikolai's 'friends') marches over to us. Despite Yuri's rough looking stature, he smiles kindly at me as he approaches. "Yuri, Ex-Spetsnaz. It is a...uh…pleasure to meet both of you. Gadget, yes?"

I regard the hand that Yuri has proffered for a moment before returning his grin and grasping it firmly. I can practically feel the strength in him through just one handshake. "That's correct."

"I am glad to meet you. I will be on the church tower with Soap when we are to take our stand. My skills as a sniper have their place, but I am sure getting another scope up there will not hurt our cause, agreed?" He gives the aforementioned captain a smirk before returning his gaze to me.

I like this guy already.

"Sounds excellent," My trigger finger is itching for some action, as is the rest of me. I remind myself not to get too excited and jump the gun whenever it comes to killing Makarov. "But I lost my personal gun a few months ago and I'll need other standard gear as well. Do you have anything just lying around here that I can use?"

"I believe we can make some arrangements."

"Perfect."

Yuri turns his attention to Ghost, who is regarding our exchange silently from behind his mask. The ex-Spetsnaz seems a bit taken aback for a moment by the grinning skull, but the feeling is clearly short lived as he offers his hand to Ghost just as quickly as he offered it to me.

"We should have equipment for you as well, sir."

"Just 'Ghost'. I don't do sir anymore." Ghost meets Yuri's handshake without hesitation and grasps the other's hand firmly.

Yuri laughs, shaking his head, and says, "Ghost, Soap, and Gadget. I have to say; I have not heard names like that around before, especially not in Spetsnaz. Ghost, yes, I suppose that one makes some sense, but what the hell kind of a name is Soap?"

There's a moment of silence as we all realize that Mactavish's call sign doesn't make sense to any of us and we turn to him as one. The captain just shrugs and laughs. Price rolls his eyes, "Don't bother asking him, bloody whelp won't answer. Back to briefing; Yuri is probably the reason Soap is still standing here with us."

I raise my eyebrows and sneak a look back at the Russian, who is settling himself back into the pew. He throws me another smile and I look away, focusing on Price. Price outlines the events that lead up to "Soap's" near-death and their efforts thus far to finding and killing Makarov. I listen intently…

Mactavish and Price managed to stay in hiding for around a month after we split up, until Makarov's men came sniffing at their door. They displaced and went to Himachal Pradesh, India; where Nikolai knew of trustworthy allies they could stay with. On the way, they ran into another bunch of Makarov's men, who managed to seriously wound Mactavish before they were all killed. The stab wound from his run in with Shepherd was torn open and be began to bleed severely. When Nikolai and Price finally got him to the camp, he was in critical condition. Due to Yuri's quick thinking they managed to save his life with an adrenalin shot.

"How's that doing? …Your chest I mean." I ask the captain, my curiosity piqued. It was strange, being away from him so long.

Mactavish tenderly pats his chest, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. That's not good. He's making that 'concerned captain' face (not even a year apart can remove my recognition of that look he gets). "It was doing all right until that day. It's opened up a few more times and infection set in after a while. A real mess. Still hasn't healed quite right, but it'll do."

I frown and nod respectfully, waiting for Price to continue. He obliges almost immediately, pausing to take a swig from a flask Nikolai's been passing around. I've declined every time it's gone by.

Price outlines the attack on the safe zone and their escape, explaining how Yuri had used an unmanned armored vehicle, a UAV, to clear the way so they could get away. They made it by the hair on their chins. They went undercover again, but didn't stay long. Whenever they got wind of an arms-deal involving Makarov, they knew they had to act. The deal was to take place in Sierra Leone, but when Price, Mactavish, and Yuri got there they found the warehouse was empty.

"We pushed into Somalia and got word out of Waraabe about a man named Volk in Paris who could 'help' us. A friend of mine from back in the day got to him. That's how we got word on the meeting. We came here and secured this church in order to get the hit on Makarov." Mactavish gestures at our surroundings. "And so here we are."

I sneer and lean into my seat. "Sounds like you have all been pretty busy. All Ghost and I did was sit around in that damn apartment and 'blend in'. I worked a desk job, Price! A desk job! Can you picture me, a trained soldier, in pantyhose and high heels and…and a skirt?"

I reflect on the past six months of hell I'd been living through. I worked a in a little office building, wearing semi-formal outfits everyday, purchased specifically for this undercover 'mission'. Calling it a mission made me feel better about dealing with stupid, fake people everyday, who were more concerned with who didn't clean out the microwave than with the _war _going on around them. I answered phones and fetched coffee and fixed the copiers and changed the ink in printers and scheduled appointments for coworkers and dealt with numerous men's flirtatious behavior.

It was gruesome.

The mood in the room changes instantly and I find myself the center of the men's attention. Ghost shifts next to me, subtly moving his leg so his knee rests against mine, showing me his support. No one notices.

"Do you know how demeaning it is to be flirted with by your boss every day for six hours, and then this! You've been lying to us." I state. It's no question; it's not to be elaborated on. That's it, the truth. They have been _lying _to us. For a _year_ now. I take a deep breath, trying to fight off the sudden swell of self-righteousness, but I can't help it. It's the _truth. _It really is! They've been lying to our faces and I'm pissed. "I wasn't trained to fetch coffee and give people a bull shit smile. I was trained to handle situations like this. With all due respect, sirs, you're both ass holes."

I don't mean it, but I almost do. I want to. I'm angrier than I have been in a very long time, angry at 'Soap' and Price and Nikolai. Pissed. Down right pissed at them and pissed at the world.

Ghost speaks up, fearing a rant from me. "I agree with her, sirs. Well, not necessarily the ass hole part, but we were left both unaware of the situation and left in the dark about your true conditions…well…actually; you out right lied to us. And our lives were at risk because of it. Makarov's men invaded our apartment! We were caught unprepared and completely blindsided. We would've made it out scot free due to pure, dumb luck if it hadn't been for a delivery truck blowing up _directly outside _of our window. If I hadn't pried the gas masks of two of the dead men then we would be on the floor of our kitchen without a clue of what killed us."

Ghost falls silent and draws a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. The others are busy mulling over what we've said. I've never stepped out of line like that to my CO's nor have I ever seen Ghost so angry about something Mactavish did (not that he's letting anyone else notice it). He surprises all of us by fishing out a stick and popping it between my lips for me and lighting it in one fluid movement without a word.

I blush and try to hide it by taking a long drag, watching the bluish haze of smoke drift towards the high ceiling. The silence that has gripped our little group is muffled by the hushed discussion of Kamarov's men and the shuffle of weapons and clothing as they adjusted positions. I settle back into my seat, lazily smoking the cigarette, waiting for someone to speak up. This is new territory for me. I've always hated silence, but in the one four one there was always someone sensible enough to break it with a joke or—

"That was quick thinking of you, Ghost. I would not have reacted so fast." Yuri is, shockingly, the first one to speak. He leans forward and requests a cigarette. Ghost obliges and after he mutters a quick 'Thank you' Yuri settles back into his seat. He throws me another smile before continuing, "Makarov's men are efficient. Deadly. I am becoming more and more convinced that the Disavowed Task Force is at a great advantage. You have done a fine job training your troops, Captain Price."

Price smirks and gives Mactavish a pointed look. "It wasn't me who did the training."

"Ah," Yuri recognizes the hint and nods. He draws a box of matches, strikes one, and puffs on his cigarette. "My mistake. Soap, you should be proud."

"I am. You can bet your life on that one. And I'm also one sorry bastard. It was unfair of us to leave you two…don't think we did it lightly, though. We thought about the issue for a very long time. I made the final call," Ghost stiffens next to me. He assumed, like I had, that it had been Price's idea. "I felt that it was in your best interest to allow you to stay undercover for as long as possible…I didn't realize that it would lead to this…"

We all lapse into silence again.

I want to be mad again, but I just can't get myself to be. He meant well, I guess…

But still, it hurts.

"I'm sorry."

I lift my head from the back of the pew and give Mactavish a half-hearted smile; exhaling smoke and tossing my cancer stick to the floor. I drag my heel across the dying ember and shrug. "Just don't do it again."

"I'll keep that in mind." His eyes shine familiarly as he looks at me, thoughtfulness pervading his expression.

%#$%^&*)(^%#$!%#^&$%*^$#!%#^$%&

"This is it, fifteen minutes. You two ready?" Mactavish stubs out his cigar and tosses it to the rubble-covered floor.

We're in the tower across from the Hotel Lustig, where Makarov will be meeting his warlord. I smirk, relishing in the fact that I'm up here with the opportunity to kill him. So it all comes down to this. I promise myself that no matter what Mactavish's orders are to me, I _will _be the one to kill that madman.

He took too much from me to go on in life without revenge. I know it's the only way to stop the nightmares. I _know _it. I have to get revenge. _I have to._

Yuri sits up and peeks over the edge of the slightly destroyed wall. I squint through the faint sunlight too, trying to see whatever I can. Unfortunately, I lack a radio. There weren't enough to go around, so I was one of those chosen to be left without. I have orders to stick with Yuri. Orders that I intend on following.

I like Yuri. I think I already mentioned that, but it's really true. He's intellectual and strong. I can tell. Call it what you will, but something about Yuri just seems…right. I smile to myself, knowing that it's probably just me being excessively grateful to him for getting me up here as a sniper and the fact that he saved Mactavish's life. Mactavish…I glance out of the corner of my eye at him and catch the captain staring at me again. I pretend I didn't see his expression, trying to shake the fact that Ghost is the only one to _ever _look at me like that…

"Which vehicle will he be in?" Mactavish asks, scratching at the scar on his face absentmindedly.

Yuri pauses. "They constantly rotate for security. We will not know until he steps out."

I frown. That makes my goal a bit more difficult. I know Makarov's face well; I've seen plenty pictures. But without a spotter or a distance card to use life is a bit more difficult.

Mactavish regards Yuri stonily for a minute. "You seem to know a lot about Makarov." Yuri opens his mouth to say something, but they both halt. I can faintly hear their radios come to life. I can't make out what he's saying, but I recognize Price's voice. I grit my teeth. He knows what this means to me. He _knows_ how _des_perate I am. Old man took me aside before I could follow Yuri and Mactavish up to our hide out. Told me that he was tempted to pull me out of the mission: that the only reason he was letting it slide was because he knows that my skills could be put to good use. I finally understand how Ghost felt whenever he heard Mactavish and Shepherd talking about him.

The radio goes silent and Tavish responds, "Bravo one, copy. We're dug in with line of sight."

Yuri shifts next to me, extinguishing his third cigarette and tossing the butt off the tower.

We settle in for our wait. Yuri and I start up a game of cards as Mactavish examines the surrounding areas with his detachable scope. "So, Gadget, how was life as a civilian?"

"Mortifying. I saw things that no one should ever see."

Yuri chuckles good-naturedly and tosses down another king. I swear, this man is the best bluffer I've ever come up against. It's a challenge to get a read on him and when I finally do he changes his entire direction. He's crafty, smart. I like it.

After about ten more minutes, Soap sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Bugger-all, mate. Looks like Makarov's late for his own funeral."

Yuri smirks at whatever Price is saying over the radio right now and sets his cards down. Royal flush. Bastard. I sit up and grab my sniper, setting up and preparing to face the mission head on. I'm ready to kill Makarov.

"Price says we can put as many rounds in him as we want as soon as we have a clean shot." Yuri whispers to me.

"It'll only take one."

Mactavish and I speak in the same moment. We grin at each other and chuckle. "Looks like I've actually learned a thing or two from you, eh, Tavish?"

"Perhaps," He shakes his head and leans into the wall. "It's almost time. The meeting will be on the second floor."

Yuri loads up his sniper rifle and nods towards me. I peer over the ledge through my scope, "Whoa, activity on the road. Looks like it's Makarov's convoy."

"I see it. Four armored vehicles. No visual on Makarov yet." Mactavish mutters.

I watch as the vehicles pull up to the hotel and come to a slow halt. "There. Do you see 'im?" Yuri murmurs. I can feel him tense up next to me, poised like a snake readying itself for a strike.

"Aye. There's the bastard. Third vehicle."

Makarov. I can see him plain as day, sitting there in the third armored car. I swallow hard as he looks out the window and directly at me. "Shit. I think he's looking right at us." I whisper, shifting slightly. I can see his hetero-colored eyes incredibly clear through the high-powered scope of my sniper. He's looking at me! Right at me! I swallow hard and try to get myself under control. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them... That car is armored, if I try to shoot him it won't do any good… and yet my finger is tightening on the trigger. I want to. God, I want to. I've never wanted something _**more**_.

"Easy." Yuri's hand grips my shoulder gently. "Easy."

I nod, relax my grasp slightly, and silently thank him for setting me straight. Mactavish, taking no notice of us, reports back to Price, "They're pulling into the garage now."

I watch for Kamarov's signal, trying to focus on something besides thoughts of putting a slug between Makarov's eyes. All the vehicles have pulled in…he should be doing something by now… "Something's off."

There's more activity on the other end of the radio and Yuri presses his finger to his to get better sound quality. I focus my scope on the front doors and watch them close behind a couple of guards. "Probably forgot to switch it on."

I huff impatiently. I'm really beginning to become jealous of the communication between teams. Ghost is over on that hotel with Price…Don't think about that now. Focus. Just like before. Focus on the mission, don't worry about Ghost. He can handle himself.

"Gadget, watch Price on your scope. Take out anyone who gets in his way. Yuri, you and I will get anyone on the balcony, on my mark."

We both grunt our affirmatives. I zoom in on Price's position on top of the Hotel Lustig. He's directly next to Ghost. I watch as the captain hooks up and looks back over the edge. With a step back, he repels off of the roof. This is it. This is really it. We're going kill Makarov.

I'm going to kill Makarov.

"We got some activity on the balcony."

"On you."

"…Now."

Four shots. All targets: down. "Very nice," I smirk, taking careful aim as Price dives through the huge window. One shot, one kill. Keep the shakiness out. Focus. Bang! Bang! We're efficient, destroying our targets without mistake. I take a deep breath after they're all gone. Good. But where's—

"What the hell?" The elevator doors open, revealing a man strapped to an ungodly amount of C4 and a chair. I gasp and clap a hand over my mouth. Mactavish doesn't lower his weapon, "Price, who is that?"

"It is Kamarov." Yuri growls.

I stand and try to get a better look, zooming my scope in on Kamarov. His mouth moves slowly as Price advances on him…God, I wish I had a radio. I need a radio! What's going on? Price gives a sudden start and begins to sprint away. I put two and two together just as—

"Price! Get out of there!" Soap yells into his microphone.

BOOM!

"Kamarov," I whisper. He's dead…there's no way he would've lived through an explosion like that.

Birds scatter all over the city as a huge part of the Hotel crumbles and covers the street below. I throw my hand in front of my face and drop my sniper instinctively. Yuri steps back from the ledge, apparently listening to someone. Mactavish looks over at the Russian, eyes wide, "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Who—" I start.

"Get out! NOW!"

This is where Hell breaks loose. Red lights begin to flash around our little hideout. Realization sets in. Yuri looks up at me and a split second later I'm falling—falling—the explosion is blinding—I'm falling—I see Yuri above me—down—down I go—I try to stop, try to grab something—I hit the scaffolding first—my shoulder screams in agony—I'm laying on my side—a chunk of concrete from the wall breaks through the plywood—I'm falling—I'm falling—Yuri's limp form passes me by—that's Mactavish—I'm falling—I hit another board, this time my head wails its protest as it knocks into the wood—then my arms—then, suddenly, I'm on the street. I groan and try to move. I'm on my stomach, I think.

The world is all color and noise. I can't figure out where the sky is. The road feels like it isn't quite solid, like I'm sinking into the asphalt. I can feel myself coughing, but I can't hear anything. There's a high-pitched wailing though. It's Roach. I know it's him! I have to help! I try to move my arms. They won't cooperate—they don't work. I begin to panic! Why won't my arms work!

The color dims for a moment and when it comes back; it's shapes and shadows and light. I blink rapidly and try to sort out what's what. The sky swims overhead, threatening to fall down through me and mix with the road and drown me. I realize I'm on my back. I can taste blood in the back of my throat. I can feel myself trying to cough it up. Roach is still screaming! Roach! I'm coming! I'll save you!

Darkness.

Light. Blinding. I groan. I hear myself groan, too. I feel blood running down my forehead. I cough some up and roll onto my side, hacking and groaning and gasping for air. I see Mactavish. Soap. I try to help him. He's under the rubble. I must get to him! I have to save him! I have to! The colors start to dance and Mactavish's body becomes fuzzy. No! I have to help, I have to! My vision starts to tunnel out and I force myself onto my forearms.

Darkness.

Yuri. He's lying on his side not far from Tavish. He's not covered. He's okay! He's trying to move too, but we're both stuck in this backwards world where up and down are the same. Gravity doesn't work right. Everything is too heavy. We sink deeper into the street. And what about Roach! He stopped screaming…is he safe?

Darkness.

Boots. I can see boots in front of me. I hear guns. Shit! C'mon, Gadget, pull yourself together! Makarov, remember? You're here to kill Makarov. Roach isn't here…Roach is dead… Boots. They run past me. Someone's yelling for soap. Forget the soap, man, this is war, hygiene can wait.

No, Gadget, focus! _Soap_ is Captain Mactavish! That's his call sign! Pull yourself together.

I struggle to move. Everything is too heavy. I'm stuck between the bubbling sky and the slop of asphalt. Lights are too dim.

Who's that? The boots get farther away and become a man. The soldier begins throwing the rubble away from Soap. I realize it's Price. I open my mouth to yell and a dry wheeze escapes, followed by a weak groan. Damn. Everything hurts. I grit my teeth and push onto my forearms. Get up, sergeant, this isn't naptime! Up! Up and down are different. The colors separate. Gravity shifts into regular gear. Up! The sky solidifies and I come up out of the street. Up! Up!

I drag myself onto my hands and knees, half-screaming in the process.

Someone's tugging the back of my jacket, helping me stand. My head lolls to the side and I start to fall. Ghost. He's holding me up, helping me stand, saying my name over and over. His voice is thick with fear. I push him away and stagger over to Mactavish. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" I grab his hand and pull him up. "We gotta go!"

Price steps over, firing his gun at enemy soldiers. He switches to his attached grenade launcher and fires off a round. "We have to move now!"

Ghost slings Yuri across his shoulders and begins to literally carry him through the battlefield, nearly sprinting.

Mactavish's chest is gushing blood. He looks down and presses his hand to the wound, face paling considerably. "Look at me! You're all right!" I yell over the horrible din of the battle around us. And I start off behind the others. "Look in my eyes, it's all right. You're going to make it! We're all fine! C'mon!"

I've had practice. I know how to transport a soldier through a battlefield, don't you doubt that for a second. "Yuri…Makarov…he said…" Mactavish begins to keel over, clasping his open hand over the gushing wound.

"Not now, Tavish." I pick up the pace and pull him upright again. Had Makarov tapped into our comms again? Had he known? I frown but keep moving. Price covers us from ahead, shooting through anyone who moves. Ghost is far ahead of him, under the cover of a low wall…looks like he's trying to get Yuri to come to. Whenever we finally catch up to him, the Russian is coughing and slowly sitting up with Ghost's help. I duck down, supporting Mactavish's weight.

"Don't stop! Keep moving!" Price shouts, dragging Yuri up by the shoulder.

I force myself to stand, waving Ghost off when he tries to help me support Soap. "You can cover us, I can handle supporting him. Move!"

Without arguing, Ghost takes off.

"Gadget…" Mactavish coughs, blood bubbling up from between his lips.

"Don't talk now, Captain. We'll get you out. Easy now, we're gonna run." I say, trying to keep my voice even. I eye the wound on his chest. That's a lot of blood…

There's an awful lot of blood in people.

Bullets whiz passed us as we run haphazardly through the streets. It's a lot easier with Price, Yuri, and Ghost laying down cover fire, but there's still a hell of a lot of enemy targets. Mactavish's foot catches on an uneven chunk of cement and we start to go down. I grunt with the effort of heaving him back up. Shit. Faster! Faster!

Price, seeing me struggle, veers back around. "Pick him up!" Without waiting for me to answer he drags us to our feet by yanking on the back of Mactavish's vest.

We're running again. My legs burn, my lungs are sucking in dirty clouds of smoke, it's hard to keep going. But I have to! I know I do! Blood seeps through Mactavish's gear, leaving a sickening trail of red behind us. Have to move faster.

"We can't stay here," Ghost yells over the din of RPG's firing and other explosions. "C'mon, this way!"

I follow the rest of the group, huffing with the effort of carrying the wounded captain. We hurry into a little walled area to the side of the road. "Now what?" I shout. We've blocked ourselves in!

"We have to get off the street!" Price screams back, firing his grenade launcher at the wall. I step sideways, blocking the bits of rubble from hitting Soap. The flying chunks of brick that hit me will leave bruises, but it could be worse.

"Enemy bird!" Ghost hollers before diving through our 'entrance'.

"Gadget! Get Soap off the road!"

Yuri helps me corral Tavish through the hole and we set off again: through the building and into the alleyway. "Set him down here," Yuri motions towards the side of a dumpster and I nod, helping Mactavish sit down.

"Just patch me up. Get me back in this," Mactavish hisses in pain, pressing his hand to the wound again. That's a _lot_ of blood…

I gently push his hand away and try to start fashioning a field dressing. Without my regular supplies, I'm caught with only one way. I pull off my bulletproof vest and shrug out of my camouflaged jacket. I'm left in only my white tank top, but that doesn't matter. What matters is stopping the blood flow before I grab my knife and start sawing the sleeve of the jacket off.

Price looks back through the way we came, frowning deeply. "It's not safe here! We have to move."

I press the sleeve to Mactavish's chest and clip my Kevlar back on as quickly as I can. Mactavish grips my wrist, "We need…Nikolai…get us out…"

Ghost kicks the door open to the next building over. He turns to me and hands me his side arm. "You get Mactavish, but keep this close just in case. Yuri, stay with Price. I'll stick with Gadget and keep them covered from behind."

"That helicopter is circling back around. We must get moving!" Yuri helps me lift Mactavish from the ground.

I start forward, helping Mactavish keep the makeshift compress on his wound. We enter a store, keeping low and moving as quickly as possible. I feel vulnerable without my jacket, too open to injury, but I feel better with it slowing the blood that's still seeping through the captain's gear.

"Yuri, Ghost, clear the store. Gadget, keep close to me and keep pressure on the wound. Let's move!"

I hustle into the store behind Price and keep low. Mactavish's breathing becomes labored and I have to carry more of his weight. I don't slow down, though. I can't. I have to get him out of this. "Easy, captain…we're nearly there."

An incoherent groan is all I get in return. I move quicker, reaching out to open the door that leads into the street. It whooshes open right in front of my nose, nearly hitting me in the face. Before I even have time to react, Mactavish has brandished his handgun and is pumping rounds into the enemy. Price, who has just run up next to us, smirks, "Nice shot, son."

"I cans till teach you a thing or two, old man."

I smile slightly. He's going to be okay. He's gonna be fine. His remaining fire and lit up attitude is proof… right? Mactavish leans heavily against me as we wait for the others to go ahead of us. Ghost's hand brushes mine. His eyes peek out from behind his shades, 'Please, be safe.'

I nod, as if to say, 'I will. Promise.'

It gets harder to move. The enemy fire is getting too thick; I can't get Mactavish to solid enough cover. I have to set him down next to a bench and take out several targets before dragging him up again. "C'mon, Soap. We've gotta move up to the statue."

Before I can lift his arm over my shoulders, his hand closes around the front of my Kevlar. "E-Emily…I lo—"

I hush him gently and sling his arm across my shoulders and start off again, "Easy now, down we go." Moving slowly, I ease him down and set him against the statue. He starts to talk again and weakly tries to keep me from standing up again.

"Emily…" I meet Mactavish's gaze, concern washing through me. He looks so fragile, so hurt. His face is twisted in pain. Not to mention how uneven his breathing is getting.

"Price, I need to work on him _**now**_." I shout, pressing my hand to Mactavish's paling cheek. Clammy. Dammit. I look him in the eyes, studying the movement of his pupils. They won't focus directly on me. I swear under my breath and gently take his face between my hands, tilting his neck left and right, examining his neck. When the rubble from that building fell on him it probably broke his ribs…and caused internal injuries…and maybe a concussion…and there are bruises…and cuts…and his wrist may be fractured…and his wound is sure to have a hard time healing after being reopened…again. "Price!"

Mactavish reaches up and grips my hand in his, blinking rapidly. "Gadget…I have to tell you…" He coughs, blood trickling between his teeth. I grasp Mactavish's hand, rubbing my thumb over his cheek as gently as I can. Don't you dare cry now, girl. Don't let them see you cry. He grabs the front of my shirt and drags me down closer to him. "I…You've always been such a good soldier…such a good friend…"

"Price, we have to move!" I yell. No one can hear me. I don't have a radio…they can't hear me.

"I…I want you to know, Gadget…we all loved you…I…I loved you…"

I can't hold back anymore. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut and shout. "Price! We have to go!" I'm starting to convulse. I'm just a shaky sniper! I should be dying! Not him! Not Tavish! NO! NO, NO, NO! I won't let him die!

"I'm…I'm so proud of you, Gadget…" He whispers. I've never seen him look so tired. So defeated.

"Stay with me, Captain, we're getting you out. I promise. I promise." I squeeze his hand and straighten up. Yelling for the others, I shoot anyone who gets close. Whenever I don't get any response from anyone I scream over the rockets, "PRICE! _Mactavish needs medical attention_ _**now! **__**We have to MOVE!**_"

Finally, _FINALLY, _I get Price's attention. He takes one look at Mactavish and understands. "Ghost! Keep them off of us! Yuri! You and I will take point! Let's move!"

I lift Mactavish up. "C'mon, Mactavish, c'mon."

His hand weakly closes around mine as I loop his arm across my shoulders. My heart starts aching. Our pace is increasingly uneven, both from the captain's faltering steps and my steadily increasing shaking. I can't help it. I try to make myself stop, try to focus on keeping us steady, but I can't. Mactavish's hand grips mine a bit tighter and he leans heavily against me, groaning and pressing his face into my neck. "Shite…Gadget…I—"

"Keep going, Soap," I encourage, keeping my voice as even as I can.

I follow the others through a shattered window (courtesy of Yuri's boot). Ghost staggers in behind us. "Go! Go! Go!"

It's easier moving through the even ground of the building. I slow down a bit to let Mactavish catch his breath and to readjust the cloth against his chest. He presses his forehead to my cheek, panting. "I can't…I can't…" He collapses.

I shriek and just barely catch his weight in time, kneeling down and trying to heave us back to our feet. Ghost runs up behind us, nearly tripping over me, and helps us up. Mactavish groans and grabs Ghost's shirt, looking desperately at his mask. "Just leave me, Ghost."

The masked man recoiled as if physically wounded by the request. "Wh—What?"

"They'll just keep comin'…I'm dead weight…I—"

"Absolutely not!" I reprimand, starting to walk again. We exit into the street and head into the next building at a sloth's pace. I don't want to admit it, but Mactavish is _really _slowing us down. I can't even see Yuri and Price anymore. "We're getting you out of this, whether you like it or not. Is that _clear_, sir?"

Mactavish cracks a weak smile, chuckles, and goes back to resting his head against my neck. "Ah, Gadget…I could never get…sick of…you." His breathing gets shallow again and I am literally _carrying _him across a small expanse of tarmac and to a…is this a basketball court?

I spot Price and Yuri up ahead, covering our six for us. I smile and give Tavish a little squeeze. "See? We're nearly there now…stay with me, please John, you're going to be all right."

"I…I'll try…"

"You'll stay, that's what you'll do."

I sound a lot surer about that than I feel.

Enemy foot soldiers are closing in behind as I lift Mactavish over the edge of the court and gingerly step down myself. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes. Jesus, he's getting heavier by the second. I feel Mactavish's boots dragging across the brick and I have to readjust my grip on his torso. Blood is nearly covering both of us now. Mactavish's blood…

That's a lot of blood…

There's a lot of blood in people…

"Gadget! UAZ!" Ghost yells from behind.

And I'm hauling Mactavish up and moving as quickly as I can. The entrance to one of our safe areas is just ahead. My heart leaps up and a smile spreads across my face. Hope. "We made it, John! Just hold on!"

Price joins me and helps me lower Mactavish to the ground. When he's arranged against the low wall he won't let go of my hand.

Yuri stands over me as I work, his gun singing death to any foot mobile that is dumb enough to come into his range. I bite my lip and start cutting away Mactavish's shirt, trying my best not to focus on the blood…there's so much blood. The whole time he's just looking at me, trying to focus on my face. "Ga-adget…I mean what I said…earlier…before…"

He's fading. Fast. I tear the rest of his shirt away, fighting emotion. Now is not the time to feel. Now is the time to act. Now is the time to be strong. Now is not the time to feel…It really isn't.

This is without a doubt the strongest I've ever had to be.

One moment it's just the five of us; the other three are duking it out against dozens and dozens of foot mobiles and that damn UAZ. I focus on Mactavish. "Look at me. C'mon, sir, _look _at me."

His eyes slowly shift to look at my face. "I…I mean it… Gadget, I really do…"

"Listen to me, captain. Remember why you're living! Remember, we need you!" I try to rally his emotions, try to give him the will to live, a reason, any at all, to keep that heart beating. "Please, Mactavish. Remember what they did to them! Remember what Makarov has done!"

That seemed to flip a switch in Mactavish's brain. "Makarov…Emily! I have to tell you…you need to—"

Suddenly we're surrounded. I grab my knife from the ground and lift it to defend myself, but—"It's the resistance!" Price exclaims, dropping the barrel of his gun and falling back to our position. "Hold them back! Gadget, watch our six, we're taking him inside."

Mactavish tries to hold on to my hand, but he's just too weak. I give him a reassuring nod as I gently pull away.

One of the resistance leaders helps Price heave him off the ground and start carrying him into the building. It's a bar…I think. Lovely. They set him down on a table cluttered with papers and folders and other paraphernalia, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is Mactavish's slowly closing eyes. Two of the resistance fighters spring into action, starting to work on him.

"Clear the table!" Price shouts at them. He looks at me with a pleading expression, and I take the hint before he can even open his mouth to speak.

I take charge.

"All right, boys. Yuri, put pressure right here! Ghost, go find the medic! Get him to bring me some bandages! Move!" Ghost hesitates, casting the wounded captain one last glance before sprinting into the hallway. Yuri presses his hands down on the pressure point. "Price, help me get this off." I motion towards the bleeding man's half-shredded shirt and Kevlar.

While we work, Mactavish is trying his hardest to speak. "Price…Gadget…" He reaches out to catch Price's hand as the latter does his damndest to pry the vest away.

"Not now, Soap. Just rest." I gently brush my fingers across Mactavish's cheek, smiling. Dammit. Dammit. I don't know what to do. We have the vest off…but…but…

Is there anything I can do?

Ghost runs back into the room, out of breath. "I couldn't find a medic…they've all been sent into the field." He joins us by Mactavish's side. "How is he?"

Dammit.

Price and I share a look. Yuri whips around and yells at the youngest resistance fighter in the room, "Get a medic!"

Soap's eyes begin closing again and he can't focus on our faces anymore. I try my best to think of something we can do for him, _anything! _But…but…I could…no…I need…there's always…

Nothing.

I feel myself breaking.

Price, seeing my expression, starts to panic. I've never seen him panic. It scares me, to be completely honest. I try to look like I'm doing something…my hands are shaking…I'm shaking. Price begins looking over Mactavish's chest, trying to help. He's losing it. We're all losing it. "Price…Yuri…" Blood trickles out of the corner of Mactavish's mouth.

"Not now, Soap. Just rest." Price's voice carries the same authority as always…but it sounds so different. I'm shaking. I grab Tavish's hand and grip it tightly. I don't know what else to do… "Get a medic!" Price screams at the others in the room. They don't understand what we're going through…no one does.

"Easy, Tavish, you're gonna be all right. I promise, remember? I _promise._ You said you were gonna hold on, remember?" Desperation sinks in. I swallow back sobs. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. It's a dream. It's all a bad dream. I'll wake up soon. I'll wake up in the hide with Yuri and Mactavish and I'll kill Makarov the moment I see him! I will! I'm waking up! I know I am! Wake up! Wake up!

Mactavish's lips part but he can't form words anymore. His head lolls to the side and his breathing is ragged.

Price grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him awake, "C'mon, stay with me son!"

Ghost steps forward and tries to put his hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off, squeezing the captain's hand a little tighter. It's getting cold…

The wounded man coughs up more blood. There's so much blood! Wake up! "Price…" He rasps. He falls silent again, struggling to keep those ice blue eyes open. "You need to know…"

John Mactavish reaches up and grabs onto Price's vest, dragging him closer with the last bit of strength he's got.

"Makarov…knows…Yuri…"

Then he takes his last breath and looks at me, his eyes shining that way they did before.

And then he's gone.

He lets go of my hand and…

He's gone.

This is without a doubt the most painful thing I've ever endured.

I snap.

"No!" I shriek, practically throwing myself on him. Ghost pulls me back, whirls me around and crushes me into his chest. Turning me away from the table, he presses his cheek to the top of my head and holds me tighter than he ever has. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake! Up! WAKE UP!"

I'm not shrieking at the dead man.

I'm shrieking at myself.

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP, NOW! MAKE IT STOP! WAKE UP!"

Ghost holds me tighter.

I think he knows…

My voice breaks into sobs and I feel my legs give out. All I can hear is Price's desperate yelling. "No…No…NO NO! NO! SOAP!" He's cut off and there's the faint sound of a struggle. I try to push away from Ghost, but his grip is too strong.

One of the resistance leaders speaks up. "Price! You have to go, now!"

"Get off of me!" Price shouts. Ghost holds me tighter, watching as Price gently removes the fallen captain's dog tags, slinging them around his own neck. Then he fishes through one of the discarded vest's pockets. He extracts a small leather book and slips it into his own Kevlar. A long, tired sigh breaks his silence. Price draws his infamous gun (the one he gave to Mactavish whenever they killed Zakhaev) and slowly places it on Mactavish's bloody chest. "I'm sorry."

I start whispering. Over and over again…"Wake up. Please, wake up. Make it stop. Wake up. Wake up."

"Shh…Shh…" Ghost hushes me. I feel him rocking me a bit. I'm shaking. God, make it stop. Wake up, please! I have to wake up. "You're not asleep Gadget."

_**Babadabaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~~~~~**_

_**Hi ^-^ **_

_**11,000 words. Eh? Pretty good, eh? 26 pages? Eh? Pretty sweet, eh?**_

_**I worked muh butt off on this one, it had to be good. It was rough, though…writing out Soap's death…it made me reaaaaaallllllyyyyyyyy sad. Hopefully I get some reviews on this because of how long I worked on it, but y'know. Whatever happens happens.**_

_**Love and rockets,**_

_**EGR**_


	24. This Is Definitely Happening

_**WARNING! **__**SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVE NOT YET PLAYED MODERN WARFARE THREE IN IT ENTIRETY THEN, FIRST OF ALL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SECONDLY, DO NOT READ ANYMORE OF THIS STORY UNTIL YOU HAVE. IT WILL OUTLINE THE GAME AND RUIN YOUR ENTIRE EXPERIENCE. **__**IF YOU ARE TOTALLY COOL WITH KNOWING THE CAMPAIGN PLOT BEFORE PLAYING THE GAME, THEN NO SWEAT. READ ON!**_

"Shh…Shh…" Ghost hushes me. I feel him rocking me a bit. I'm shaking. God, make it stop. Wake up, please! I have to wake up. "You're not asleep Gadget."

I grip the fabric of his jacket and bury my face in Ghost's chest. "It's just a bad dream. This is all a dream. I just have to wake up. I have to wake up. Wake up, wake up." I'm shaking. Jesus, I'm shaking like a leaf. Tears burn my cheeks as I try to gain control of my own dream. I shut my eyes…have to wake up. C'mon, Gadget, open your eyes.

They are open.

I'm still crushed into Ghost's chest.

No!

This isn't happening!

The windows shatter and Ghost releases me. "We have to go!" Then I'm being dragged away, away from Mactavish.

"No! He needs us!" I shout, trying to break away. Yuri skirts by me, doing his best to avoid looking at my desperation.

"Price!" The resistance leader speaks up, "This way!"

"Right. Ghost, bring her along," Price backs away, albeit reluctantly.

I get away from Ghost. I have to save Soap. I have to. I have to! He needs me! I launch away from the lieutenant's grip and take Mactavish's face between my hands. "C'mon, c'mon…I know you're okay. I know it…" His face is directly in the sunlight that's breaking through the blinds on the now destroyed windows. It's smoothed over, calm. He's no longer feeling the pain he did earlier. He's no longer bleeding, no longer dying. He's dead. That's the finality of it. The sobs slow as I look at Mactavish. This is real.

This is definitely happening.

"Gadget…" Ghost's voice is calm. I turn to look at him, not releasing my grip on Soap's face. "We have to go…they're coming…please, Gadget…"

He holds his hand out, eyes pleading.

"Please."

I slowly drop my gaze back to my captain. "I'm sorry, sir." And then we're running. I follow Ghost to the end of a short hallway where Yuri and Price are waiting for us. Bullets start chewing into the walls, just barely missing me. Price gives me a respectful nod.

"Yuri! Get this door open!" He orders. The Russian complies, pulling the huge steel door behind us open with a grunt. Yuri...Makarov knows Yuri. That's what Mactavish was shouting about whenever we were in the hide! Those were his last words 'Makarov knows Yuri'…Yuri is working with Makarov. Everything fits together! That's how he knew! That's how Makarov knew we were there! I glare at the back of the 'mercenary's head and feel my trigger hand twitch.

I'm gonna kill him.

Apparently, Price has the same plan. He rushes forward and grabs Yuri's shoulder before punching him as hard as he can! There's the sound of fist meeting flesh and Yuri staggers back a bit. Ghost runs up and shoves him backwards with all his might. Yuri falls. Down, down, down to the bottom of the stairs, hitting an impressive number of them on the way. He groans in pain at the bottom, clearly struggling to remain conscious.

I'll beat him senseless.

I tear down the stairs, ignoring Ghost's plea to wait, and drag Yuri to his feet. "You!" I snarl, punching him squarely in the jaw. "You told him!" Crack! I slam the Russian into the cement wall. Whatever air he had in his lungs whooshes out of him in a pained scream. "You! We trusted you!" I finish up with an upper cut to the stomach. Panting and shaking worse than ever… I step away, watching with disinterest as he falls to the ground.

Ghost catches up with me and tugs me away from the Russians form. He looks back and forth between us, "Nice work." He follows this comment with a swift kick to Yuri's ribs. All the other man can do is groan and roll onto his back.

"Soap trusted you." Price is slowly making his way down the stairs, clearly in no hurry at all. He starts loading his handgun. His eyes never leave the newly bruised and bloodied man on the floor. Said man weakly pulls himself into a sitting position against the wall. Price's voice shakes a bit…is he…? He's crying. Captain John Price…is crying. My jaw would drop if I weren't trying so hard to stop shaking.

It's not full out crying, mind you, but there are tears. That's like a unicorn whenever it comes to Price. "I thought I could too."

Price holds his gun up, aiming it at Yuri as he comes to the bottom of the stairs. His voice drops into a gruff growl. "So why, in bloody hell, does Makarov _know you?" _

The barrel of the gun is practically against Yuri's forehead. The man swallows slowly, looking past the gun and into Price's eyes. I get the urge to hit him again, and I would too if Ghost weren't working his arm around my waist. He pulls me against his side, reaching up and pulling off his balaclava. Yuri's eyes follow his hand and they widen a bit whenever he sees all those scars for the first time.

I feel tears gathering again. I've snapped. "Tell him, dammit!"

"I was young and…patriotic when I first met Vladimir Makarov…" Yuri slowly goes into the details of how he and Makarov had become friends. Close friends. Very close friends. I see the look in Yuri's eyes (though I'm nearly positive the others miss it) and I begin to guess that the two had been _more _than friends...it may just be me but… Anyhow, they worked together for Zakhaev for years. He outlines the day when they'd saved their leader's life. Price tenses next to me, recognizing that in 1996 he'd been with the team who was shooting at Zakhaev…I know that the memory brings up fresh images of Mactavish. No, don't think about that right now…there's time for that later on…focus.

"Zakhaev never forgot what we did for him that day. Our reward was power." Yuri shifts uncomfortably, lifting an unlit cigarette to his lips. After a moment of it hovering there he seems to decide against it. "But power…corrupts."

Year 2011. Al-Asad's Safe House in the Middle East. "Thousands of souls…extinguished…by the push of a button." Guilt pervades Yuri's expression. His voice breaks slightly and he toys with the cold cigarette between his fingers. "He…He told me it was only the beginning…he didn't feel anything but victory…He didn't care that innocent lives had been destroyed."

I can't help but identify with the Russian. I think of Alex. Sure, the EMP did what _Price _wanted it to do…but…

Yuri grits his teeth, crushing the cigarette in his fist. "This wasn't war…it was _**madness. **_I knew then that I could no longer do the dirty work of this…organization. It was wrong. I was General Shepherd's plant. I brought 'Alexei' in. I kept the agent safe, kept Makarov from suspecting his presence…I was there to keep people safe…I was…I thought I was undetected.

"He knew. Somehow Makarov knew…He didn't spend as much time by my side…" Yuri's voice drops low. He sounds tired, suddenly. "So, I informed Shepherd of the attack on the airport… You know what a monster he was. That bastard told Makarov exactly what I'd done before word could reach the CIA...

"I didn't know until the day of the job. I went with them, thinking that before anyone could be killed the American and his forces would take care of it. I thought…I thought that in the parking garage we'd be stopped and Alexei would be met by his leaders and I'd go free.

"Shepherd betrayed me. He never informed 'Alexei' that I was on their side, feeding them information. He never informed the other leaders of America of the attack. Instead of meeting U.S. forces in that parking garage I was beaten by the very men I'd worked side by side with for years…Alexei, the man I'd been protecting, helped them…He thought it was his orders…

"Makarov knew. He _knew. _He shot me like a dog and they left me to die." Yuri spits angrily, his knuckles going white as he closes his hands into fists. "I lay there and bled for a while, trying to overcome the pain. I knew I couldn't stay, I knew I had to stop him. I dragged myself into an elevator and went down to the floor where the plan was to take place. Bodies were everywhere. Screaming people. Men, women, children, no one was spared! I could still see that _monster _and the others. I was going to kill him! I was too weak…too much blood was lost…I couldn't…

"I was a soldier of Russia…not a taker of innocent lives. But…" Yuri's voice drops, his gaze locking with mine. "In his eyes…this marked me as the enemy."

Yuri falls silent and we all sit in quiet awe of this newly acquired information. I'm still shaking rather violently, Ghost's arms doing nothing to slow the quavering. Price still has that damn gun jammed against Yuri's temple. It doesn't look like he's going to lower it either.

"How did you survive?" Ghost's voice causes us all to give a little start. It's dangerously soft. The words sound like venom. Whenever there isn't an immediate answer he releases me, storming up to Yuri and grabbing the Russian by the collar, dragging him to his feet. "If Makarov shot you and left you to die with the others in the airport, how in _bloody hell _did you survive?"

"There were paramedics. They came with the police! They didn't know I was involved!" Yuri tries to pry Ghost's hands away, but to no avail. "I gave them my false papers and they gave me medical attention. I have money. One in my line of work always has money."

Price waves Ghost away, his handgun still aimed at Yuri's face. They regard each other for what feels like weeks. "Okay, Yuri… You've bought yourself some time." The sound of a gun sliding into its holster makes the room visibly less full of tension.

Then, smirking, Price adds. "For now."

**SYSTEMS REBOOTING…**

**LOADING…**

**LOADING…**

**LOADING…**

"Where is Mactavish, my friends?" Nikolai asks as we board the plane.

No one speaks. In the distance, I can hear the quiet murmurs of other resistance fighters…wind in the trees…dirt and rubble blowing across the plains. Silence. My shoulders are shaking. They haven't stopped since…since this whole thing turned into a living nightmare. I swallow had and squeeze my fists a bit tighter, trying not to think. Ghost is already sitting down, as is Price. Yuri and I stand awkwardly in the center of the plane, not speaking, not moving aside from my incessant tremors. The door shuts behind us.

Silence. No murmurs or breeze or skittering pebbles. Just silence.

"Where is Mactavish?" Nikolai's tone changes to one of fearful knowing. He doesn't want to know…

"M—Mactavish is…he's dead, Nikolai, all right?" I stutter, my voice shaking just as much as the rest of me. "He's dead. Like everyone else… He's fucking dead!"

Nikolai visibly retreats. Mactavish meant as much to him as he did to all of us. John saved the man's life, after all. Silence. Again… It's strangling me, seeping into my mouth and nose and suffocating every breath. The air is getting heavy. Too heavy. I feel like I can't stand up. I start swaying, shaking, sucking down air that's too thick to breathe. Tears build behind my throat and I choke them back. It feels like I'm about to vomit. My vision won't stay straight…

"He's dead…okay?"

**Soooooo, there's that chapter…it's just sort of…plahh.**

**Yeahhhh, anyways, leave reviews. Try and guess what'll happen next! I think that'll be quite amusing. While you're here, check out my Christmas story and leave a review for that too. I'll give you a virtual cooookiiiieeee XD**

**Adios y Feliz Navidad,**

**EGR.**


	25. That's It!

**Hi guys :) Nice to be writing again, I've been slacking a bit lately. However, I've been thinking non-stop about this story. I have the ending all planned and everything! Unfortunately, I have no idea how exactly to arrange this part…so I'm just gonna give it a go and keep my fingers crossed.**

**OVER 100 REVIEWS! *Throws a dance party…alone***

**None of my characters would dance with me…**

**On to the story!**

**LOADING…**

**LOADING…**

**LOADING…**

**WARNING!**

**UNIDENTIFIED PROGRAM has gained access.**

**[[RUN PRGM. 14130]]**

**GRANTED**

**RUNNING PRGM. 14130.**

**STANDBY.**

…

Emotionless blue eyes gaze blankly at a plate of rations. They blink rapidly, trying to get that stinging feeling to go away. The eyes remain ever dry, however. Ghost doesn't cry. He hasn't in years. Setting his untouched dinner aside, the exhausted man drags his hands over the back of his neck and sighs deeply.

The death of his close friend and leader is taking its toll. Sleep escapes everyone in the group. Tensions rise as they sit in complete silence. Gadget is cleaning her scopes and lining them up on a table. Nikolai is trying to look busy, toying with his gun. Terrance and Hawkins have excommunicated themselves from the group, uncomfortable with being in a room full of soldiers mourning the loss of their captain. Yuri stares blankly at the wall with guilt written clearly on his face.

Price…

Price is reading the journal he took off of Soap's corpse.

Those closest to Mactavish make no attempt to swipe silent tears away. Only Yuri and Ghost remain stony faced.

Seeing Price reading the notebook reminds Ghost of his own diary, tucked safely in between his Kevlar and chest. Pulling it out, he flips it open to the next blank page and fishes a pen out of his pocket.

He writes;

_Captain John 'Soap' Mactavish was the greatest man I've ever worked with. He was, without a doubt, the craziest, bravest bastard to ever become a soldier. Mactavish was the only person who could get me out of my 'fits' when I first joined the one four one. After Shepherd's betrayal I was sure he was dead. Of course he survived, and stole the pleasure of killing the traitor. _

Ghost frowns, rereading what he'd written. No, it wasn't right. Doesn't fit the man it was written for. A line is etched through the words and Riley starts over.

_Mactavish was everything I wanted to be._

_He was able to control himself, control his men, keep them safe. He was smart. He wasn't afraid to stand up for himself in the face of our superiors. When I first started out in the one four one I was a mess. They almost sent me off. Mactavish managed to keep me on the team and drag me through the more excruciating bits of insanity. He became my role model, the man I looked up to._

_The captain followed orders as long as the orders were what was right. The moment he felt that they were no longer worth pursuing or were going to put us in insurmountable danger, Mactavish tossed them to the curb. I never met a man quite like him. I never will again._

_It's gotten me thinking, really. About what happens when one dies…how it leaves everyone they love feeling so empty and alone. _

The masked man looks up from his writing for a moment, examining the forlorn and tear-streaked faces around him.

_I can't even cry. Everyone else who was close with him is crying. Even that hard ass Price is letting his sodding eyes water a bit. So why in bloody hell can't I? Am I so inhuman that I can't even manage a few tears? That must be it…_

_That's another thing about Mactavish. Everyone cared about him in one way or another. Some guys, like Roach, looked at him like some sort of father figure. Gadget and Nikolai practically worshiped the ground that man walked on. Price, who was closer to him than anyone, I think, viewed him as a son._

_I wonder what that's like…losing a son._

_To me..._

Ghost pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

_Mactavish was my best friend. My closest friend. The first person I let in after Roba. The first person I ever trusted with my life. I could kill him for dying and leaving us out to dry. Selfish prick. He was probably just tired and wanted to get some natural, uninterrupted sleep for once._

Riley would laugh if it weren't so damn sad.

He reads over the entry again. And then again. Ghost usually avoided writing something so personal in his book. Typically, he'd jot down a few short sentences and then leave it be.

This is different. Very different.

"What's our next move?"

Everyone in their small company looks to Ghost, then each other, then finally Price. He sits up a bit straighter, wipes his eyes calmly. "We bring in reinforcements."

**CONNECTION LOADING…**

**LOADING…**

**CONNECTION COMPLETE.**

**[[BEGIN Transmission]]**

"There's a clocktower in Hereford where the names of the dead are inscribed," Captain Price murmurs slowly. "We try to honor their deeds even as their faces fade from our memory. Those memories are all that's left, when the bastards have taken everything else."

There's a very short pause that somehow communicated the extreme levels of pain everyone is feeling. Then the man Price is speaking to over the radio answers, "What happened?"

"He killed Soap." Price grips the edge of the desk, trying hard to keep his voice level. "He's gone, Mac."

The voice, this Mac, is suddenly very compliant. "What do you need from me, son?"

"A location. Our Russian says Makarov used to cache weapons at an old castle near Prague. He's got nothing more solid than that."

"Can you trust him?"

Price's eyes slide over to where Yuri is sitting by himself. Doubt clouds the aging Captain's mind. After all, he's been betrayed before. As if sensing someone's stare boring into him, Yuri looks up and meets Price's gaze. They regard each other for a moment or two before the Russian drops his head. "What choice do I have?" Then, feeling a strange need to defend Yuri, he says, "He's got his own reasons for wanting Makarov dead. Place ring any bells?"

"Aye. We ran drones over a suspect castle back in Zakaev's day, but we never got wind of our targets visiting the area." Baseplate sends a file, and the screen before Price changes into the view from a camera.

As he watches the feed, Price asks. "What am I up against?"

"The place is a fortress. Only one way in or out—unless you've learnt to fly." Mac answers. "Security office on the far side of the compound, and a command center north of that. Both were heavily guarded. If Makarov's there, he'll be in that control room."

Price motions at Gadget, who nods and stubs out her cigarette before typing quickly.

"What is this you're sending me?"

"Equipment list." Price answers simply. Gadget's already lighting another cigarette.

"That's a lot a' hardware John. What did you plan on doin'?"

"What you taught me to do… Kill 'em all."

Baseplate laughed. "I always liked that about you, John. You know how to sell your cause. I can secure clearance and make sure nobody bothers you while you work up there, but I'm afraid the equipment list is beyond my reach."

"I can get you that." Hawkins leans over Gadget's shoulder, reading through the list and nodding to himself. "Easy."

**[[END Transmission]]**

"But—"

"It's out of the question, Sergeant."

"Don't try and pull rank here, Price. We're disavowed! We don't exist!"

"That doesn't matter! We still need to think practically. You and Ghost will stay here. Yuri and I will take the castle. Nikolai will be our exfil. No arguments."

But, Gadget, Ghost, and Terrance all have arguments. And they all blurt them out simultaneously.

"That's totally out of the question—"

"I'm not here to sit back and relax while—"

"You're not going in there without me!"

Price cuts them all off with a meaningful glare. "We can't all go. This is a two-man job. You two have been out of action for a year. We can't go in there with guns blazing and expect to make it out alive! We have to be smart about this. Gadget, Ghost… I'm sorry. But this is one we need you back here for. You're skills will be put to better use when gathering information via your computers. Terrance, Hawkins, I need you to stay here. I'm sure you understand."

That settles it. Disregarding all other arguments, he brushes by them and goes to kit up.

Terrance swears and kicks the nearby table of maps and schematics, sending papers and pens flying. Sticky notes flutter through the air like ridiculously yellow butterflies. They scatter over the floor. One sweeps next to Gadget's feet, resting just near the edge of her toe. She bends down and retrieves the slip. 'Kill Makarov' it reads in big letters written in red permanent marker. With a snarl, she crushes it in her hand and tosses it away. Kill Makarov. If only she could…

The four left behind draw quietly away from eachother. Gadget closes herself in the bathroom. Ghost drifts into the den and flops onto the couch. Terrance starts up a rousing game of solitaire. Steven sits back in awe. That's it?

_**[ERROR~]**_


	26. More and More Promises

_**WARNING! SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVE NOT YET PLAYED MODERN WARFARE THREE IN IT ENTIRETY THEN, FIRST OF ALL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SECONDLY, DO NOT READ ANYMORE OF THIS STORY UNTIL YOU HAVE. IT WILL OUTLINE THE GAME AND RUIN YOUR ENTIRE EXPERIENCE. IF YOU ARE TOTALLY COOL WITH KNOWING THE CAMPAIGN PLOT BEFORE PLAYING THE GAME, THEN NO SWEAT. READ ON!**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE! IMPORTANT**

**Hey guys ^-^' Listen, I know updates have been seriously lacking. I know that really sucks because we're SO CLOSE to the end. I know I really need to start practicing what I preach and update more regularly. I'm probably losing readers like no other… -headdesk- but you guys deserve better, so I'm going to try my hardest through these final chapters to JUST KEEP WRITING!~ **

**Thank you so much for all your patience and encouragement throughout these dry spells. Things are a bit wild for me and it's nice to know that my work on here is appreciated ^-^**

**Love and Rockets,**

**EGR**

**(More and More Promises)**

The 'base' becomes quieter than a graveyard. Terrance and Hawkins try their best to entertain themselves with a card game or…well… anything to keep their hands busy. Gadget and Ghost had disappeared, slinking off in separate directions, but that's sort of the norm lately. Terrance shuffles the deck over and over again. His eyes are distant and distracted. The British man across the table from him looks equally trouble. However, Hawkins's eyes are glued to the radio speaker as if staring at it long enough will cause Price's voice to crackle out of it.

"He's not gonna check in, y'know."

Hawkins blinks rapidly in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asks, "Price always checks in with us. That's why we're here."

Terrance rolls his eyes and sets the card deck down on the table between them. The table creaks softly as he leans forward. "I mean 'Price ain't checking in'. He doesn't want us here to wait around and listen to the radio, Stevey. The old man just told you that to keep you from arguing. He wants us out of the way. You, me, and the two loony love birds—"

"Miss Robins is not 'loony'."

"Yeah, she is, Hawkins. She really is. Just like her boyfriend, Ghost. They are loony."

Steven pauses, trying to find a good argument against what Terrance is saying. These accusations aren't exactly far from the mark, but Steven refuses to let himself believe that Gadget is insane. Ghost most certainly is. Anyone around the masked soldier can practically feel the waves of terrible things emanating from him. Steven doesn't like that Gadget and Ghost spend so much of their time together. Especially since they'd lived in the same apartment for a whole year…

Taking Hawkins's extended pause for him giving up the argument, Terrance steamrolls on. "Anyways, Price wants the four of us out of the way. Yuri is trained for this stuff. Trained by the enemy. So, therefore, he knows the ropes better than we do. He might even know the setup of that fortress. Gadget is still all glassy eyed over the Captain's death, and Ghost is…well…let's just say he's been out of commission for a year.

"You and me?" Terrance laughs bitterly. "We never made the Prima Donna squad. We're beneath all the others, beneath their training. We're the 'tag-alongs'. You're a movie star with connections, a pretty face, and the ability to lie to the media without suspicion. You're an actor, Hawkins. That's what you're here for. To cover our asses. To do some comfy work behind a computer and give us a face to use in the public. You can go out and buy us groceries without being tackled or shot or captured.

"I'm just a simple AWOL soldier. What the hell would I be doing in Makarov's safe house?"

The whole spiel gives Steven pause. Terrance is right. And he knows it. _He's been thinking about this, _Steven realizes. _He's been thinking about this a lot. _

"Think what you want, Hawkins." Terrance gestures towards the ashtray beside Gadget's laptop. It's full of cigarette butts. "But she's losing it."

Steven removes himself from the room. It's a lot to take in, this new realization of how he fits with the group. A pawn in the game. A sheep in the flock. Price's scapegoat. An errand boy. And Steven had been so certain that he was somehow a valuable asset in his teammates' eyes. No. He's simply a convenient way to get what Price needs.

The British man suddenly feels a change of heart towards his acting captain.

The minutes scrape by and all anyone has to say is the occasional comment on the absence of the other three teammates. Finally, Steven can't stay in the same room as the condescending American for another moment. He excuses himself and begins searching for better company.

In the small living area of the base, Hawkins stumbles upon a very unusual sight. Ghost. Without Gadget. Without his mask. He's gazing straight into the mirror like it owes him money…and kicked his dog.

"You all right, mate?" Hawkins asks. There's no response. It's as if he'd said nothing at all. He draws nearer to Ghost and repeats himself. Still nothing. "Ghost, mate, c'mon. Snap out of it." Not a second after Steven's hand comes down on Ghost's shoulder the soldier grabs hold of it and throws the younger man flat against the wall. Hawkin's hardly has time to yelp before the sound of a fist meeting flesh cuts him off. 

It takes both Nikolai and Terrance to drag the stone faced Ghost off. "Ghost! Ghost, stop! Ghost!" They pin him against the wall. Every fiber in Ghost's being seems taut as he tries to get at Hawkins, who is now cowering into the opposite corner.

"What'd you do?" Terrance shouts.

"I didn't do anything!" Hawkins yells back defensively.

Nikolai uses all his weight to keep Ghost against the wall. "Ghost, my friend, stop! You have to stop! STOP!" Practically roaring in his ear, the Russian is doing everything he can to snap the raving soldier out of his episode. Slapping him when there's the opportunity to get a hand free, shouting his name, pressing his elbows into his chest. Nothing's working.

Hawkins, feeling immense guilt and embarrassment, slowly regains his balance. Standing, he realizes just how hard Ghost was whaling on him. A bruise has already started at the base of his cheek and it's more than likely that his ribs are going to be cracked.

"Steven!" Terrance yells, using one hand to pin Ghost's face against the wall. "Get Gadget!"

"But—"

"NOW!"

Steven takes off in a run, dashing through the small base in search of Gadget, shouting her name. "Gadget?" He yells into the control room. No answer. He swerves down the hall. "Gadget?" Nothing. He ducks into the hangar and spots her legs poking out from beneath the helicopter. "Gadget! Thank God! Ghost has gone crazy!"

In a flash, a motor oil covered woman is zooming towards the living room. Steven is right on her heels.

They find the three other men in a tangle of limbs on the living room floor, all shouting and struggling to get control of the situation. Nikolai keeps yelling at Ghost to snap out of it while Terrance is threatening to break Ghost's neck.

"Get off of him!" Gadget shouts, grabbing hold of Terrance's collar and shoving him away. Nikolai is pried aside soon after and Gadget is the only one holding Ghost to the floor. "Ghost! Ghost, stop it!" He is fighting against her with all his might, yelling incoherently, trying to get away. Ghost doesn't recognize Gadget at all. Somewhere in his twisted mess of a mind she's become the enemy. Someone to fight, to escape from. Someone to fear. "Stop it! Stop!"

"Get away! No more! Please! Please, no more! Make it stop! Please!" Ghost's tone is suddenly pleading. Fear is so blatant that Gadget lets up for a moment. In that short second, she's thrown on her back and Ghost is scrambling for the door. He shoves by Nikolai and nearly gets past Terrance when—

"Simon! SIMON RILEY, STOP!" Gadget shrieks, her voice soaring up an octave. .

Everyone freezes. Ghost goes rigid, one hand on Terrance's shoulder and the other in the process of reaching towards Hawkins.

"Simon…" She repeats, voice cracking weakly. Inwardly, she begs him to turn around and look at her. To turn around and look at her and have some sort of recognition as to whom she is. When his eyes finally find hers, it's there. A frightened smile stretches over Gadget's face. "Simon, it's me. It's Emily. It's all right. You're safe."

"B-But…" Ghost sounds like a child; lost and frightened, searching for something familiar. He looks over his shoulder at Steven, who has undoubtedly turned into the likeness of Roba.

Gadget hushes him softly. "We're at the base." She spots his mask on the coffee table and scoops it up. "Come here…that's it. Let's put this on you." She talks him through it, step by step. Every now and then she gives his cheek an encouraging pat or says a quiet 'that's it'. The whole time the rest of the team remains speechless. Once his mask is on and Gadget has talked him onto the nearby sofa, Ghost stares blankly at his hands.

"Better?" She implores.

A silent nod is the only response.

Nikolai finally shakes himself out of shock and grabs Terrance by the upper arm, dragging him out of the room and whispering something about manning the radio. Steven lingers, eyes glued to Gadget.

Fascination—perhaps a small pang of jealousy—grips him as he watches. He's never seen Miss Robins…Gadget use such a gentle touch. She trails her fingertips along Ghost's cheeks, grips his shoulders reassuringly, and runs her hands over his arms. All the while she whispers to him. Ghost's nods become more frequent and slightly more alert. Hawkins is stunned into silence.

He's seen Gadget use those very hands to kill a man without the assistance of weapons. He's heard that same, comforting voice scream in pain and throw curses at an enemy. It's like the fiery, spunky woman he'd become so attached to, doesn't exist. She's been peeled away to reveal a soft, loving, cherishing being beneath. Steven can only recall one other time he's seen her like this. When one of his guards was shot and dying, Gadget had been the one to go and rescue the hysteric young man. Just like now, that harsh exterior had melted and she'd talked the soldier into comfort.

Shame has replaced the look of fear in Ghost's eyes as he turns to look at Hawkins. Their stares lock and a moment of understanding passes between the two. There's a flicker of recognition somewhere past the grinning mask. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

Steven's throat feels tight. So tight that he's amazed when he manages a steady, "'It's nothing."

**[SIGNAL IDENTIFIED]**

**[LOADING…]**

**[LOADING…]**

**[LOADING…]**

**{{RUN prgm}}**

**{{CANCEL trogan 14130ab.d}}**

**[[PROGRAM cancelled]]**

**[Continue?]**

**[…]**

**[…]**

**[…]**

**{{RUN prgrm}}**

**{{ERASE ALL FILES}}**

**[WARNING!]**

**[SYSTEM override]**

**[TROGAN 198. has disabled PROGRAM ERASE]**

**[CONTINUE?]**

Price tears off his helmet and throws it across the hangar. Fuming silently, he stalks off towards his office, leaving the rest of the team bewildered. "What is his issue?" Hawkins mutters. Already, he can feel himself loathing Price more and more.

"Something didn't go the way he planned." Gadget murmurs. She locks eyes with Yuri. "Spill."

The Russian, wondering why it's always him who has to 'tell the story', explains that when they reached Makarov's fortress they managed to sneak all the way to the control tower. That's where Makarov himself was supposed to be. Supposed to be.

"He wasn't there?" Gadget jumps to her feet, cheeks flushed with anger.

"No. But we got very important information." Yuri says defensively.

Gadget rolls her eyes. "Oh, yes, more important information fed to us by Makarov himself. I don't see how that could possibly go wrong."

"Gadget, let's hear the man out." Terrance says. He turns to Yuri expectantly. "Well?"

"There has been a kidnapping. Alena Vorshevsky."

Steven loses his balance on the box he's been sitting on and topples sideways, knocking into Ghost on the way down. "Watch it, mate." The masked soldier hauls the smaller man to his feet.

"Sorry…Alena? As in…the president's daughter, Alena?"

"Da." Yuri nods.

Steven laughs. "I think I'll sit this one out then. Alena's…well, let's say Alena is an old 'friend' of mine."

They'd dated…for a very long time. The president's daughter had been Steven's first high profile girlfriend. They were an odd couple due to their countries of origin, but it worked. That is, it worked until Hawkins starred in a film with a particularly pretty female co-star and…well, he likes to leave it as they 'drifted apart'. They haven't spoken since. Tabloids like to bring it up now and then, but other than that, the couple has never come about again.

"Aside from Hawkins ah…predicament, Alena is a very important figure. Her father is needed to end this war. With her as a bargaining piece, there is no telling what Makarov will accomplish. President Vorshevsky is priority number one, for now." Yuri glances at Gadget. "We must get her back."

"Who let her get kidnapped in the first place?" Terrance sneers.

"Delta Force. We tipped them off as quickly as we could…but the warning was seconds too late." Yuri starts to say something else, but no one is listening any more.

Captain Price emerges from his office, smiling slightly. "We're not alone anymore. The Delta Force in America has agreed to help us retrieve Alena."

Gadget crosses her arms, suspicion clouding her features. "Wait. Who are these guys that they're willing to help us get to her AND they so conveniently know where she is?"

Price isn't at all surprised by her opposition. Having been betrayed time and time again he expected Gadget to be resistant to the idea of adding to the group. He calmly explains that he's worked with the Delta Force members before, that he trusts them, and that _he _was the one to discover the location of the girl in the first place. "Makarov was kind enough to point out her location."

Still unconvinced, Gadget looks to Ghost. He gives a nearly unnoticeable nod. "Fine. I'm in."

"Good. Yuri?"

"If it get's us closer to Makarov."

"It will. Terrance?"

"If Nikolai needs a co-pilot."

"Nikolai?"

"Da."

"Excellent. Hawkins?"

Surprised to be included, the actor nearly falls off his perch again. "What can I do?"

"We always need an extra pair of hands, son." Price smirks. Seeing that the young man needs more encouragement, the captain tilts his head towards Gadget. "And I think that Emily will be too busy with her boots on the ground to man the screens." Perking up with the opportunity to do his favorite 'job' Steven quickly agrees. Even when faced with the risk of running into his ex-girlfriend, he's part of the team. Well…that is until Terrance's 'theory' proves itself true…if it ever does… "Ghost?"

Behind the skull balaclava Ghost grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. His eyes spark to life a bit and the smile spreads to Gadget. "Of course, mate."

"Right. Well, gear up. We leave in two hours. Try not to be late." The door closes behind him and there's only an instant of silence before everyone is on their feet and hurrying off to ready up.

In her room, Gadget is busy getting her gear together. She throws open her closet and begins sorting through the small collection of shirts and jackets she managed to salvage. Most are too large or baggy in the arms, but she'll manage just fine. Tossing garments over her shoulder and musing to herself about the complete monochromatic nature of her wardrobe, Gadget doesn't even hear Ghost slip in to her room and sit down on her bunk. He watches silently as she roots through her clothing in an effort to find her old 1-4-1 flak jacket. He can't help but smile.

The smile fades, however, when a thought strikes Ghost. What if he loses her?

It's like being slapped awake in the midst of a very pleasant dream. It's been a full year since Emily and Simon have thrown themselves into the battlefield. Knowingly, that is. Their previous mission was different. Gadget was to be a sniper, far off the field. Out of the way. Safe. It was going to be a quick mission. Straight forward. No mess or firefights or terror. And when things went wrong, they went wrong so quickly that Ghost hadn't had the opportunity to think about it. There was only time for action. For getting to Gadget and getting her to safety.

Now, as another article of clothing thumps onto the bed next to him, all Simon can do is think about all the guns that will be down in the diamond mine. Guns aiming at Gadget. The idea is so repulsive that Ghost finds himself on his feet. "Emily…"

In her typical 'heart attack' manner, Gadget whirls around to face him, clutching the white cotton shirt to her chest. Wide-eyed and wild looking for a moment but then there's recognition and she relaxes, smiling. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

He crosses the room and kisses her softly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Sensing his anxiety, Gadget frowns and holds him at arms length. Ghost can feel her scrutinizing stare, but refuses to meet her eyes. Finally, she puts it together. "No. No! Ghost, don't you dare—"

He kisses her again to stifle the argument. She tries again, but his lips are against hers every time Gadget starts to say anything. At first it's annoying…then it makes sense. So she returns the kiss and wraps her arms around his neck. In a matter of moments, his arms slide around her waist. Finally, he can't stand it anymore. "Promise me I'm not gonna lose you…"

She's holding him away again, both hands on his chest. "Wh-What?" Confusion swims in Gadget's large brown eyes. It's rare to see any emotion in their depths, so Ghost clings to this detail.

"Don't…don't risk anything while we're down there. I…I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you." Ghost tightens his hold on her. Scared that if he lets go for even a moment she'll be torn away forever. "Promise me you'll be careful. Please."

"Ghost, you know I can't make promises—"

"No. You have to promise me. You have to. Remember back before this whole mess? Back in the 141? Back when we were about to go after Makarov in that goddamn safehouse?"

There are tears in her eyes and her voice is so unsteady. "Ghost, stop. Please, I—"

"No! Emily, I promised you that day I wouldn't take risks for your sake." She tries to pull away from him. Ghost shakes his head and pulls her closer against his chest, hugging her tight and burying his face in her hair. "I promised you. I promised. Even though I didn't want to and I felt like I couldn't ever keep it. I kept my promise, too. Please…Please, Gadget."

"I don't think I—"

"Take responsibility for this!" Ghost can feel himself shaking, but no tears come. His throat tightens and it's nearly a minute before he can speak again. "I can't live without you anymore…Emily, I'm insane—"

"You're not—"

"Yes, I am! Just let me…I'm insane, all right? Neither of us likes it, but we both know it. But you…you keep the voices away. Roba doesn't come after me night and day; he doesn't haunt my dreams every time I close my eyes. I can look at myself in the mirror without losing sight of what's real." Ghost holds up his hand to keep Gadget from speaking. "I know I got a bit out of hand today. But you saved me. Like always. No one could get to me but you. You're like medicine or something. I don't have to be afraid when I'm with you. What would I do without you?"

She starts to argue again and he gets angry.

"This is your fault! Don't you get that? Before you came along I could scrape by on a few hours of sleep, wear my mask, and survive! Just a ghost…

"Now…" The shaking is worse. He holds on to Gadget and squeezes his eyes shut. "Now, you brought me back. Showed me there were things to be happy about, things to love." His voice drops to a whisper. "I can't…I can't go back. Don't leave me."

Slowly, as if helping an injured child to safety, Gadget sits Ghost down on the bed. "Simon…" She whispers, kissing his temple and cupping his cheek in her palm. He looks at her helplessly. "I promise. I won't do anything I think will get me killed. I promise I won't leave you."

The rest of their time together is spent packing their gear, laughing, showering each other with affectionate kisses and the occasional reassurance that they will not be torn apart. By the time Yuri comes along to inform them that the helicopter is all prepped and ready, the pair is grinning ear to ear.

"Let's go save us a VIP."

"Hooah." Gadget chuckles, shrugging on her jacket.


	27. So Close, so close

**[Eastern Siberia]**

"We're gonna have one chance to grab the President before he gives up the launch codes and Makarov turns Europe into glass." Price says into the radio. On the other end of the horn is some guy named 'Sandman'. "Once we get boots on the ground it's gonna get lively down there."

"Hopefully you can keep up, old man." Sandman chuckles. Everyone else in Price's group grins, reminiscing about a certain Scot who referred to him in the same manner.

Price allows himself a smirk. "I know you Yanks like to take all the credit—" Gadget sneers and crosses her arms. "—so our end will keep the neighbors in check while we roll hard to secure the hostages."

"Ok. Weapons tight, guys. No one likes a dead hostage."

Another voice crackles on. According to Gadget's control panel, his call sign is 'Truck'. "What's the score, boss?"

There's a deep tone of grimness in his voice when Sandman answers. "Everyone's hostile."

"Ain't that the truth." 'Grinch' adds. Not really the nickname Gadget would've selected, but she supposes everyone has their own stories.

The radios are tucked away and the two helicopters converge quickly on the same point from opposite directions. Ghost reaches down and gently squeezes Gadget's hand when no one's looking. She smiles reassuringly at him but the emotion never reaches her eyes. Which only serves to unsettle him more. "I've got a bad gut feeling." He says softly.

"You always have a bad gut feeling." She kisses his cheek and moves to gather her equipment.

Things are just like a typical mission until the Disavowed 141 and Delta Force come face to face. With Delta in their brand new, matching, professional equipment and the 141 garbed in whatever black market gear they could find. Truck's unyielding professionalism side by side with Yuri's tattoo covered skin. Grinch's general hugeness compared to Gadget's tiny, slim form. Sandman's young smooth face compared to Price's seasoned glare. There's a man named Banshee who would fit in with them, but he's still emanating that same strict professionalism the other Delta members are. It's such a stark contrast between the disavowed and the strictly regulated.

At first the two groups simply regard each other before recognition spreads over Banshee's face. He removes his glasses to get a proper look. Yes, that's who he thinks it is. "Gadget? Ghost?"

Gadget is startled for a moment or two before the familiar face matches with a name. Excitement takes hold of her and she tears her scarf and goggles off, letting them dangle off her neck.

"Look at you…" Banshee chuckles, ruffling Gadget's hair. He frowns. She's got scars. A lot of them. On her face, on her hands. Probably all over. The Prima Donna squad was clearly busy.

"You haven't changed a bit."

This is the last unprofessional moment that the group has. Stony faced and silenced by determination they trek forward. Gadget gets a feeling way down in her bones. It's the same feeling she got just before they went after Makarov. Just before everything went to shit. The inkling becomes an acidic fear in the pit of her stomach as Gadget gets closer and closer to the elevator shaft down to the mine bunker. She looks to the man at her left—McCoy, was it?—and claps his shoulder lightly. "Hope you're good in the dark." She says with a smile.

He laughs and nods. "Yes, ma'am. Thinking about taking on the nickname 'Batman' anyways." She joins in his laughter. The others aren't paying much attention, however, and the silence takes hold again.

They enter the elevator undetected. Sandman pumps a bullet into the guard's head and drags the body aside. He sinks to his knees, pounds his fist into the start button, and looks over his shoulder at the others. "Ready?"

'No.' Gadget and Ghost think to themselves, glancing at each other from opposite sides of the cage.

Grinch, however, is quite the opposite. "This thing go any faster?"

"Easy, Grinch." Sandman chuckles, clearly used to his antics. Gadget grins faintly too, but the fear quickly constricts the smile. She's suddenly certain that Ghost isn't going to live through this. Nor will Grinch. It's terrifying. Suffocating. Gadget has to get out of the elevator. NOW. "Top off your rifles." Sandman orders. There's the collective sound of cocking guns. Then, the elevator creaks loudly as it slows to a stop. "Get ready."

Ghost looks longingly at Gadget. No, he has to focus. He forces himself to watch as the doors grind open. When on the field, he has to force his ties to Emily out of his mind. Ghost has been out of action for a while so it's hard to tear himself away from feeling so completely centered on her. Gadget's his constant, his safety. To let that go is…unbearable.

But he'll have to manage.

"Now!" Price shouts. Bullets start to cut through the air. Enemies fall.

"Twelve o'clock!"

"Look out!"

"RPG!"

Grinch, McCoy, and Truck all scream simultaneously. The rocket shakes the entire elevator shaft, knocking Gadget back against the wall. Most of the others fall to their knees or straight down on their stomachs. It's clear McCoy won't be getting back up. The elevator shudders and there's the loud groan of tearing metal. Grinch shouts "Shit!" and covers his head to protect it from falling debris.

Sparks are the only light as the elevator falls. Gadget squeezes her eyes shut and clings to the wall. The shrieking sound of scraping metal is so loud she almost misses Truck yelling, "Hold on!"

The elevator clangs to the bottom of the shaft and gives such a lurch that anyone on their knees is thrown to the floor, anyone that was flat on the ground is thrown to the walls, and Gadget does an impressive flying flip into the corner. Moaning in pain, they all drag themselves to their feet in the inky darkness. Sandman tries to regain control. "Status?"

"I'm good." Grinch coughs, helping Ghost to his feet. After a quick surveillance of everyone, Gadget realizes they lost McCoy and feels a pang of hurt. He seemed like such a good guy. The rest of the team sounds off. "We're clear!"

The doors begin to screech. "Heads up!"

"Night vision goggles, on!" Banshee adds, clicking his own pair into place.

Having never liked using this particular method, Gadget struggles with fighting in the darkness. She lags behind the others as they flood out of the elevator. For the first time, she's glad Ghost is so far ahead. At least he isn't trying to rescue her or anything…

"Gadget!" Banshee calls. She whirls around just in time to see a grenade roll to a stop behind her. Gadget lurches forward, barely making it behind a metal crate before it blows.

This sets her even further behind the group.

Swearing angrily and staggering after them, Gadget listens as the others follow orders she's too far on their six to keep up with. She tears off her goggles, adjusts her eyes to the better lighting, and charges forward to catch up. Truck is the first person Gadget sees and he waves her over. "Targets! Twelve o'clock high!"

"I see em!" Grinch hollers back.

Yuri blows ahead of the group, up into one of the side control rooms, and smashes the glass windowpane. He cleans up the last few targets. An opportunity presents itself to push the team forward. And Price isn't about to pass it up. "Sort 'em out!"

"Go, go, go!" Ghost yells over the blaring sirens and RPGs and explosions. Where's Gadget? Where is she? No. Focus. She's fine. She's fine. Focus. Ghost keeps running, down, down, down the twisting tunnels.

And she is fine. Gadget's with Banshee, helping him saw through a solid metal door lock. They work together in the same, smooth fashion they used to. The moment they're out of the way, Price charges forward and kicks the door open full force. There's no time to check behind him to see if the rest of the group is fairing well, as the stairs ahead are fraught with hostiles. The area that follows is open and unsafe. "Keep tight, gentlemen."

There's the unmistakable sound of shattering glass as Truck smashes several windows with the butt of his rifle. It seems like they're getting pinned down when Gadget finally reaches their location. "Price!" He looks at her, shielding his eyes from smoke and debris. "We have to keep pushing! There's no time!"

"Keep moving! Go!" The captain urges. The Delta men vault over first, followed by Yuri, and then the three Disavowed members. It seems like chunks of concrete and bullets are flying from every direction as they steamroll forward through the open hallway. Every enemy that stands in their way is shot down. There is no hesitance. No mercy.

But then…

"We're gonna need another way out of here!" Grinch screams. The door is jammed. There's no time.

Banshee backs away, frowning and looking for another option. There! "Stairwell, left side! Let's go!" The small group follows him close behind. The twisting staircase is strangely void of enemies, which only serves to put them on edge even more than usual.

"This is it." Gadget whispers, as they reach the end. Two, large metal doors loom over them. That acidic, gut feeling builds up, consuming her.

Sandman keys in to his radio, saying "Overlord, this is Sandman. We're at the bottom of the mine. We're gonna need air support."

"Affirmative, Sandman. We'll chop a Predator to you."

Ghost slips up behind Gadget and places a hand on her shoulder, about to remind her of the promise she made. But Banshee cuts in, eyebrows raised. "Aren't you two supposed to be dead?"

"It's a long story, Lance." Gadget smiles kindly at him. "But yes, we're supposed to be dead."

"Hopefully, we can dodge it for a bit longer." Ghost adds. He pointedly slips an arm around Gadget's waist. It's unusual for him to show any sort of possessive affection and it makes her a bit uncomfortable. And she's just about to let him know. "What about you, Lance? Didn't your whole squad get wiped out, too?"

Lance stiffens considerably, glaring daggers at Ghost, who seems completely unfazed. Gadget, shocked, tries to backtrack for him. "That's what we heard, anyways. From the—"

"Forget it." Banshee turns away from them and joins the rest of Delta on the opposite side of the room.

The very moment he's gone, Gadget sidesteps Ghost's grip. "What is wrong with you? You know better than to throw something like that in his face!"

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that." Ghost says casually. He means it, too. Sort of…

Gadget makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and tries to busy her hands by topping off her rifle. Damn. She could use a cigarette. Sandman decides it's time to push forward. "Ready?" He smirks at Price.

"Try and keep up." The elder man chides. As one, they kick through the steel doors. The light from inside is so bright that it momentarily blinds the teams, but they quickly recover. They mow down any of the foot mobiles the helicopters happen to miss, but for a while, it's easy going.

But they have to push forward! There's no time!

"Hop the rail! Move it!" Sandman orders. Yuri's the first to jump, landing smoothly and plowing ahead. "Is he always so compliant?" The Delta leader asks Price as they follow in his wake.

Price chuckles lowly. "He's got his own reasons for killing Makarov."

"Don't we all." Grinch shouts over the firing of guns.

Overlord comes back online. "UAV is on station with a full load of AGMs. Ready for targets."

For the first time since the mission started, Price allows himself a breath of relief. Now that they're out of the mineshaft and have plenty of cover from above, there's no targets breathing down their necks or exploding grenades to dodge. The two teams are cooperating smoothly (as far as he knows) and everyone (aside from one casualty) is in one piece. This could actually be an easy run…

**[CONNECTION Interruption!]**

**[STANDBY!]**

**[…]**

**[…]**

**[…]**

**[…]**

**[REBOOTING]**

**[PLEASE Wait]**

**[…]**

**[RECONNECTING]**

**[PLEASE Wait]**

**[…]**

**[CONNECTION FOUND]**

**[LOADING…]**

This could actually be an easy run…then again…

It's a pretty straight-forward (although, UAV filled) fight through the open construction sight. With plenty of cover, no one in the group is in much danger, aside from the occasional foot mobile that ducks the missiles. But of course, a SAM begins shooting down the Predators. Sandman calls it in, but it's clear that Delta and the Disavowed 141 are going to have a lot less air support for a while.

"We need another way into the mine!" Sandman yells over the chaos.

Gadget shouts back, "Any bright ideas?"

The wheels in Price's head are already turning. "We're not getting in there without some heavy firepower!"

"I got it!" Ghost grabs his radio. "All right, mate, let's see what you can do!"

In Nikolai's helicopter, Steven Hawkins can't help but grin as he reads over the coordinates. "Solid copy, Ghost. Odin Six, payload target coordinates are as follows: 7 9 4 4."

The ground team huddles behind whatever cover they can get to; cement chunks, metal structures, huge pipes, and boxes. "Everyone sit tight!" Ghost bellows as the helicopter roars past them up above.

In a brilliant succession of explosions and raining debris, the mine entrance blows wide open. Price nods in gratification to both Ghost and Hawkins. "Now that's more like it. Inside! Now!"

Anyone who would've stood in the group's way has been destroyed by the blasts. The entrance is a flaming maw of twisted metal and chunks of cement, almost too easy to access. They slip inside without opposition and swerve right. "Overlord, we're in! Approaching target now." Sandman reports steadily. Only wounded enemies and an easily breach-able door stand between them and the VIP. The floor begins to slope downwards gradually as the team goes deeper and deeper into the mine. The drive of the mission is rising in everyone. That wild sensation of being so close to the finish, but knowing there's one last brutal fight to face.

Gadget surges ahead, driven with the urge to get this over and done with. The sick feeling just won't go away…in fact…it's getting worse. "Yuri! Take care of the door!"

In silent obedience, Yuri takes point. So close…so close… He plants the breaching charge and steps aside.

Everyone takes aim, ready to blow off the head of anyone who stands in their way, ready to kill or be killed. The door is history and they surge in, at the ready! Truck is the first to notice. "Wait! It's the daughter…" Alena Vorshevsky is tied to a metal folding chair, still dressed in her typical finery.

Gadget drops her gun to her side and rushes to the girl. A nasty wound is on Alena's neck. "She is injured…" With deft fingers, she and Price cut the prisoner free.

"Please…" She whispers, trying to keep her eyes focused on Gadget's face. "Please…"

Gadget hushes her gently and lifts her from the chair like she weighs nothing. "You're safe now, ma'am." Using that same gentleness she did to coax Ghost out of his stupor, Gadget lays Alena on a cleared table and adjusts her to check for injury.

Their radios crackle to life. "Metal 0-1, what's your status? Have you secured the President?"

"Negative, Overlord. But we have the girl." Sandman looks gravely on as Gadget's fingers fly to do whatever she can to keep Alena with them. The injuries aren't bad. But Alena is going in and out of consciousness so quickly that Gadget can't get a proper reading on what to do with her.

"We'll prep a team for extraction. Continue searching for the President."

Banshee has drawn near to the table, wanting to help Gadget however he can. He notices Alena's pleading look and leans close. "She's trying to say something…!" The girl's voice is weak and wavering, but with her lips so close he can just make out the words. "She says they took her father deeper in to the mine."

Sandman nods, motioning to a door. Truck kicks it open. "Then that's where we're going. C'mon."

"Banshee," Price gestures at Alena. "Stay with her. Gadget, Grinch, Ghost. On me. Yuri, take point."

At a dead run, they charge deeper and deeper into the mine. It's like the earth is swallowing them up and dragging them into a world of shadows and echoing voices.

With Alena, Banshee is doing all he can to keep her comfortable. Reassuring her that she's safe, that her father will be rescued. "The evac is coming. It's coming…" He squeezes her hand and smiles softly. "You're going to be safe."

"Thank you…" She murmurs. "Thank you…"

Gadget sees him first. "There! On the catwalk!"

"There he is, I see him!" Grinch points to the President, who's being carted away by at least a dozen foot mobiles.

"Then we're not too late! Keep pushing!" Price urges, firing methodically at everything that moves. They make it on to the catwalk just in time to see the President being dragged into an elevator. As if by a silent agreement, everyone hooks up to the side railing and leaps over, rappelling down.

"There they are!"

"He's right there! Right _there!"_

So close…so close…

Ignoring the RPGs and shouting around him, Yuri barrels onwards, focused on one thing and one thing only. Save the President.

Ghost, however…

Where's Gadget? Where is she? "Gadget?" He calls, looking around for her. An enemy bursts out from behind a crate and nearly takes Ghost's head off with a spray of bullets. He rolls to the side at the last moment and buries his knife into the man's Achilles tendon. Too close…way too close. But still no sign of her! "Gadget?" He tries again, dragging himself to his feet.

"Ghost! Get down!" That's her voice! Where is it-? "Get down!" She shrieks with enough urgency that he responds, throwing himself flat down behind a crane. The RPG narrowly misses the his boots and explodes right where Ghost had been standing. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Move!" She darts out from behind a pile of boxes and helps him to his feet. As soon as he's upright, there's the all too familiar SPUKK! of a bullet meeting it's mark and Gadget falls to her knees.

"NO!" Ghost screams, scrambling to catch her. She moans and drops her gun, planting both palms over the bullet wound in her side, just below the ribs. Ghost whirls around and sprays bullets at the enemies before tossing his own gun to the ground and kneeling in front of her. "No! No, Gadget! No! Absolutely not!"

She moans again and slumps forward. "Ghost…"

"GADGET'S HIT! SOMEONE HELP!"

"Ghost…"

"Easy love, easy…" No. No. No. No! NO! This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Thick, red blood gushes from the wound. God…No!

He hears Truck from ahead. "They're closing the blast doors!"

"Clear!" Grinch hollers. All targets down. But to Ghost it's already too late.

"SOMEBODY HELP!"

Yuri is next to him, suddenly, looping Gadget's arm across his wide shoulders and lifting her off the ground like a rag doll. "We have to get moving, my friend. She will be all right. She is strong."

Hysteria is beginning to take hold of Ghost.

"Focus." Gadget glares at him. "Focus."

Focus.

"We gotta get through that door!" Banshee bellows.

Price is already there. The blast door has closed. So close… "It's reinforced steel…we can't get through this."

Grinch growls. "Any bright ideas?"

"I've got one. Up top. Follow me."

They follow Price right on his heels up the metal staircase and to the center of the floor above. He examines the cement ground and nods to himself. This will do perfectly. "Get charges here, here, and here!" He points at different spots. Yuri gently sets Gadget in Ghost's arms, being sure he has a good grip on the wounded woman, and gets the C4 set up in a flash.

The blast cuts a semicircular chunk of the concrete free and the group plummets downwards. Ghost clings to Gadget, whispering reassurances in her ear. He's practically oblivious to the sound of guns firing and the impact of the concrete meeting the ground beneath.

Yuri picks off the enemy soldiers, one by one, with a cleanly precise headshot for each. The President falls to his knees, bound and gagged.

"Overlord, Jackpot. The President is secure." Sandman's voice is even. He dashes forward with Grinch and Truck and they help the President to his feet.

"Solid copy. Gather your team and proceed to the RV." Overlord keys out.

The President is freed of his gag. "My daughter…" he pleads.

"She's alright. She's alive." Price says. For a moment, they've done it. Relief.

But then—

"What the hell?"

There's a bone-jarring explosion and everyone staggers as the mine floors quake beneath their boots. Gadget grips Ghost's collar tightly and clenches her eyes shut. The pain is blinding! Her every fiber feels as if it's alight with searing fire. Blood bubbles from between her fingers. "Ghost…" She whimpers.

"You're okay…" He murmurs back. Price takes note of the situation. There's no more time…they have to get out. Now!

"Move! Move!"

Not needing to be told twice, the group is surging forward as one. "Overlord, this place is going to collapse on us any minute! The birds need to come to us! We've got two wounded; the President and one of our own!"

Ghost runs full out. The foot mobiles shooting at him don't exist. The President is already being taken care of. The objective has been reached. Now, all that matters is Gadget and her scarlet blood that is dripping from her side, soaking into her shirt, dribbling to the dirty ground below. The helicopter is on its way. If he can just make it there…he has to make it. They're so close! So close! "Hold on, love. Hold on."

Sandman grabs Ghost's sleeve and pulls him out of the line of fire. "Hold this position! Evac will be here in thirty seconds!"

"Fly fast, Nikolai…fly fast, dammit." Ghost murmurs desperately. Gadget is fading in his arms, even as the seconds tick by. There's no time for waiting. "Price!" Ghost calls out in desperation. The aging captain looks over his shoulder. The sight that meets him is horrible. Blood covering the two soldiers that remain of the 141. All of it is the young woman's… "Please…!"

Please what, Ghost doesn't know. It's just a plea. A plea for anything. Anything to help Gadget, anything to save her. Price knows that there's nothing to do but to get her to the helicopter and hope someone there knows how to help. But he can't leave Ghost without a hope. "She'll make it! She's strong, Ghost! Stronger than any of us!"

"More bad guys inbound!" Truck shouts.

Yuri, who's been crouched next to the President to protect him, straightens up and lets every one of his grenades fly at the enemies ahead. It can't get worse.

But then, of course, it does. Foot mobiles begin flanking them from the wings. "Watch the left side!" Grinch advises.

Gadget weakly reaches up and touches Ghost's face. "Help them." Her voice is strong. Unrelenting. Stern. He hesitates, nods slowly, and sets her down. He stands and begins shooting.

"Hammer 1, you gonna bail us out of this, or what?" Sandman shouts into his radio.

"Almost there. Just hold on."

Gadget finds herself struggling to keep her eyes open. The edges of the world is fading away, going dark. She forces herself to watch Ghost. Always watch Ghost. Never look away. He glances down at her every few seconds. All around is the garbled sound of flying bullets and men shouting to eachother and explosions and flying debris and panic. But all there is…is Ghost. The pain begins to fade, but this doesn't bring comfort. It brings panic. Because as the pain fades, so does Ghost. So does the whole world. So does the sounds and the smells and the light. No. No! There's no time…so close…so close…

"Looks like our ride's here!" Grinch shouts jubilantly. Ghost could sing, the relief is so overpowering.

But then he looks down. Gadget's gone paper white. The blood has been sapped from her and the life in her eyes is quickly following. "NO! GADGET! NO!" He scoops her up, holds her close. "NO!"

"Metal 0-1, this is Vulture 6," Ghost starts to panic. No time! No time! "Let's get the hell outta here!"

"Sounds good, 6-1!" Sandman. It barely registers in Ghost's clouded mind that that's who is talking. "Alright, let's move! Go!"

Yuri grabs the President and takes off, just behind Sandman and barely ahead of Ghost. It can't get worse.

But it does.

The mine is practically coming down around them. The sight of a helicopter is an absolute godsend! "RPG! RPG! Move! Move!"

"I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"NO!" Ghost can't hold it back.

The helicopter falls from the sky, out of view. "Going down!"

A bright flash of light. Stone and steel and who knows what else rains down on their heads. Yuri shoves the President forward only seconds before getting knocked flat on his stomach. Ghost looks up just in time to see a waterfall of rocks falling directly onto him and Gadget.

**Lalalala, hi it's me ^-^**

**Soooooooo~ There's your cliffhanger. I know I wrote this one really fast XD I was on a plane and then I pulled an all nighter to get it finished. I was so into it.**

**This next chapter is gonna make ya'll wanna kill me~~~~~ ****fair warning**

**I WARNED YOU!**

**SUPER IMPORTANT MENTION!~~~**

**Banshee is the character of someone else! He is the OC of **SAMURAI DEATH97, **a faithful reader of mine who requested his use in the story~ Thanks Samurai~ He was a big help! This chappie is dedicated to you!**

**LOVE AND ROCKETS! (and garden weasels)**

**EGR**


	28. But You Promised!

**I know I've been updating REALLY really fast lately. Idk if that's annoying or hard to keep track of, but I'm just trying to put the good ole' "Complete" on this story without losing momentum as far as writing it. I am sorry if it's too fast to keep up with, but be glad that it's this fast. You'll never have to wait a month to read my update ever again ^-^**

**NOTICE!**

**As we near the end of the story, I still need reviews to keep the ideas turning. Let me know your reaction to anything that happened. I even love getting just a smiley face in an anon review, cause it lets me know I did a good job. Thank you! ^o^**

**Enjoy the chappie~**

"Hammer 1, you gonna bail us out of this, or what?"

"Almost there. Just hold on."

"Looks like our ride's here!"

"NO! GADGET! NO! NO!"

"Metal 0-1, this is Vulture 6. Let's get the hell outta here!"

"Sounds good, 6-1! All right, let's move! Go!"

"RPG! RPG! Move! Move!"

"I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"NO!"

"Going down!"

A bright flash of light. Stone and steel and who knows what else rains down on their heads. Yuri shoves the President forward only seconds before getting knocked flat on his stomach. Ghost looks up just in time to see a waterfall of rocks falling directly onto him and Gadget.

The world falls dark.

Everyone has had that day where nothing goes quite right. Everyone has witnessed a tragedy that changed their lives forever. Everyone has come home at one point, fallen into bed, and wished they could just forget everything that happened to them that day. They may look back on that twenty four hour period, shake their heads and think about how that was the worst day of their entire life. Most aren't even being drama queens. But, to everyone, beyond the shadow of doubt, it is the worst day they have ever had to live through.

What people don't think about is how that one-day had exactly one instant that was worse than all the rest. They lump the full 86,400 seconds into one complete experience that changed everything. But really, there was one instant, one moment that changed it all. You're day might've been bad before, but that instant came and WHAMO! There was no going back.

That moment is right now for Ghost. Though he doesn't know it yet… This is officially the worst day of his life. He lies on his back, the world swimming in and out of focus around him. He can hear screaming and alarms and rubble falling around him, but it's like he's listening to it through water. Melded together in some sort of sick cacophony. As his eyes blink open, all the lights and darks are too vivid and unfocused to quite make sense of anything. An aching pain consumes every inch of his body, but, like everything else, it feels too far away to care about.

Maybe…maybe he should just let go.

Ghost entertains the idea of letting himself die for the first time in his life. Before it had never been an option. There'd always been things to go back to, people that needed taken care of, a duty to fulfill…

No.

He's not dying. Not today.

With an incredible exertion of force, Ghost clears the rubble off of his battered body and groans. The pain is more apparent now, but he fights it. Then it is blocked out with the realization of something so much more horrible. Gadget no longer rests safely in his arms. Where is she? Where is she?

"Gadget? Emily?" Ghost staggers to his feet, calling out to her with a voice that attracts Price's attention. He hustles over to find the younger man heavily distraught, digging around in the various piles of rock and metal.

Horror grips the Captain's heart, and he's about to grab Ghost and drag him away.

There's a familiar groan of pain and Ghost stiffens instantaneously. That's her voice. That's the sound that always let him know when she'd twisted her ankle or nicked her hand on a knife or walked into the coffee table. He knows it better than anyone's. It has to be her. There it is again! Ghost lurches forward and begins raking aside debris with gloved fingers. After only seconds, he can see her. "Gadget!" He reaches out and pulls her out of the pile. The joy is short lived. Bruised and blood-soaked, Gadget's paled face only holds a tiny fraction of the sparkle he knows. But she smiles anyways.

"I feel…like Roach…" She laughs weakly before falling into a fit of coughing. Blood sprays from between her lips.

All the color in Ghost's face drains and he looks to Price, desperate once again. The Captain hesitates only momentarily. "Let's get her out of here."

At that moment, a helicopter lowers through a hole blown in the mine. Finally, a turn for the better! Ghost holds Gadget tightly against him and begins to sprint towards the chopper, trying to ignore her coughing and the fact that her muscles are slowly going limp. "Hold on…I got you. I got you." He whispers.

After what feels like an eternity the helicopter finally lands and Ghost can load Gadget on.

"Get the President on board, we've gotta get the hell outta here."

The president! Shit! Ghost had forgotten all about him in his desperate rush to save Gadget. He looks over his shoulder to see Grinch charging towards the aircraft with his arm protectively around Vorshevsky's shoulder. Relief washes away the panic for the mission and Ghost focuses on Gadget's paper white face. She's gasping for air and every inhale makes a horrible rattling noise in her ribcage and every exhale drives more blood from between her lips. It's a struggle for her to keep her eyes open and on Ghost.

He smiles comfortingly as she had so many times before and reaches down to wipe away the dreadful scarlet from her cheek. "We're safe now, love. You're safe. We're gonna make it." She smiles back, shivering and twitching slightly, and shakes her head. Ice drops to the pit of his stomach when he looks down and sees that the bullet hole is now a long gouge in her ribs side. The moment that changed this day from a bad accident to a tragedy was when the mine ceiling above Gadget and Ghost collapsed. When she slipped from his hold and got buried, a piece of rubble landed directly on the wound and split it in a way that couldn't be simply stitched shut. The puncture is the deepest part…and there's no exit hole. He screams for a medic, frantically applying pressure. But that bullet is still in there…buried in her lung.

"'S too late…" She murmurs, grabbing his wrist.

"No. No! It's never too late. Not for you…" He yells.

"Ghost…" Gadget's hand is already cold when she touches the side of his neck. They stare at each other for a long time as the screams and alarms and falling rubble echo around them, too far away to worry about. Her icy fingers hook under his balaclava and pull it slowly over his head. Ghost allows this, too entranced by her face to give a damn about anything else in the world.

"President's secure!" Grinch says, a million miles away.

"Price! You gotta go! Make sure the President gets out!" Sandman.

"Don't even think about it mate, we're in this together!" Price.

"RPG!"

An explosion.

All of it is too distant, too irrelevant as Gadget gently slides his sunglasses off. Then she drinks in the sight of his eyes like they're the most beautiful thing she could ever see.

_That's going to be the last thing I ever see. _Gadget thinks to herself, not daring to voice the idea out loud. _The last thing I ever see…_

_I can live with that._

"Truck, cover the right side!"

"You better be right behind me!"

The explosions shake the landed helicopter and Ghost throws himself over Gadget's maimed form to protect her from any more damage. It's instinctive, natural. He'd do anything to save her. Anything. He looks out the open doors, ignoring the dirty pant leg of President Vorshevsky's suit, and watches as Price drags a blood soaked Yuri towards the safety of the helicopter. The President reaches out and pulls Yuri in, Price following close behind. Ghost screams once again for a medic. Please…Please…

They're so close.

"Sandman! It's time to go! Come on!" Price screams. Team Delta makes no effort to get to the chopper.

Gadget manages to prop herself up on one elbow. "Sandman! Please! There's no time! Now!" Another trail of blood spills from the corner of her mouth and Gadget weakly falls back to the floor, eyes squeezed shut in agony.

"Just go! Get out of here!" Sandman orders, never looking back. The helicopter lifts into the air. Too late…no time…but they're so close.

An RPG explodes just beneath them. The helicopter gives a groaning shudder and tiny, irritating alarms begin to go off. "Hang on!" The pilot shouts. Ghost uses his body to keep Gadget from rolling as the helicopter makes a clumsy ascent. But it stays just barely close enough for Team Delta to get on.

"Just go! Go!" Sandman screams over the commotion. Gadget is suddenly reminded of Mactavish. Just go, he'd say. He didn't care if it meant death for him…he knew that even the greatest sacrifice was worth the mission. Her eyes crawl to where President Vorshevsky sits, clinging to the edge of his seat in a desperate effort to stay on the helicopter.

The alarms get louder, pounding at Gadget's skull in a way that makes her squeeze her eyes shut. "We can't stay here! We gotta leave!" The pilot screams over the commotion. The ice in Ghost's stomach becomes an entire iceberg and he clings to Gadget's small frame. They can't just leave men behind…what about all the people waiting for them back home? What about their families and friends and, in some cases, kids? A death isn't just a loss of one person. It's that, yes, but it's also the loss of a part of everyone close to them.

"No!" Price yells. "Get us back down there!"

Ghost can feel the helicopter rising into the air and chances a glance out the windows. The mine is literally coming down around them as they fly up the shaft. He looks away, back down to Emily. She's shaking her head. "Don't leave them…" She whispers.

He shakes his head. Ghost knows it's a lost cause. To try and do anything about it would be a waste of resources. A waste of valuable time. The President is on the helicopter. He's safe. That was the mission.

Price, however, is having a hard time leaving his men. "Sandman, do you read me?" The radio offers no response. But he doesn't stop trying, practically pleading for the Team Delta leader to answer.

Blood seeps along the floor of the helicopter, soaking Ghost's knees straight through to his skin. He tries to ignore the clumsy, half-strength movement in Gadget's typically nimble fingers as she brushes the scar on his cheek in a manner that screams goodbye. The other passengers fall silent, watching, but not being disrespectful.

As her eyes begin to grow heavy, Gadget realizes that she's going to die. It feels like…she should say something. What she should say, she isn't sure. Aren't people supposed to have last words that mean something? They're supposed to be brave, memorable. Especially if one is a soldier. But she knows that if she just says anything it could just as easily be stupid. Ghost sees the look in her eyes. That look of letting go he'd seen so many times in other people just before he lost them. "No! Absolutely not! You're not leaving me!" He meant to make it sound like an order. The desperation in his heart makes it into a plea.

Gadget holds his balaclava against her chest with one hand and reaches up to trace his jawbone with the other. Her fingers travel to his lips and he kisses her palm lightly, trying not to think about all the blood on his knees. Her blood. Her life draining out of her. "I'm not leaving you…not really…not permanently, anyways."

He shakes his head, frantically and pulls her into his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow. "No…No! You're not leaving me at all! You're not…you're not going to die. I forbid it. I…I won't let you! You can't! Not now! Not temporarily! Not ever!"

And there's that knowing smile she always gives him. Granted, it's typically accompanied with a kiss on the cheek and a sparkle in her eyes, but that's gone. She's fading right before his eyes and Ghost feels completely helpless. He rocks her gently in his arms, pleading her to stay with him, begging for her not to go, not to die. She can't die. She just can't. He can't live without her. He'll survive, of course, but that's what he did for so many years. Ghost can't go back to that.

"Simon…" Gadget says soothingly, her voice tired and soft. Nearly gone. He clings to her every word. "Simon…I love you. I'm so glad…I'm so glad I got to spend the last years of my life with you…"

"You promised!" He accuses. His grip tightens and he hugs her close, burying his face in her neck. "You promised!"

When Simon Riley looks at her again, she's smiling. Smiling triumphantly, like she would when she won a hand of cards or proved him wrong or pranked him so impressively that he never saw it coming. He would smile back if it weren't for the five-pound lump in his throat. She holds up her empty, gloveless hand and crosses her fingers. He looks from her delicate hand to her eyes and back again, unable to get through his head what she meant. And then it clicks…

And then he breaks down, sobbing and holding her and pleading with her not to let go. He tries to staunch the blood. He really does. But there isn't enough left in her to keep her heart going, even if he were successful. Emily 'Gadget' Robins is dying in Simon's arms and there's nothing he can do about it.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't have let you out of my sight…I should've…never…ever…" He cries for the first time since he became Ghost and holds Emily tight.

She presses her cold fingers to his lips. "It's…not your…fault…Simon…" Emily's breathing becomes uneven and shallow as she clings to these last moments with him. "Never…think that it's your fault…because they need you…I need you…to be strong…for me?" He nods weakly, unable to answer because of the sobs shaking every inch of his body. Nothing matters anymore but the brave, dying woman in his arms. She wipes some of the tears from his face, smiling again, though her eyelids are beginning to flutter like they did when she and Simon would pull all nighters to get their work done or when she'd be fighting off sleep for just a few more minutes to talk to him in bed. "I love you."

He nods. Then shakes his head. Then nods again, unable to sort out which one he means. The tears are coming too fast to respond properly, so he kisses her instead. Softly. Gently. Like the first kiss they ever shared that night when she'd stolen his mask. When he told her everything. How long has it been? How many minutes has he gotten to spend with her? Not enough. This is all too soon. Her lips move against his in their familiar, comforting way. He runs his fingers through her hair, treasuring this…

Emily's hand falls away from his face and rests on the floorboards. Simon puts more urgency into the kiss, trying to let her know how much she means to him, how important she is, how much he needs her. But her lips begin to slow, and then they stop all together.

He breaks away and looks straight into her eyes. She smiles rests her head against his shoulder. A flood of pleasant memories of Emily bombard Simon at once and he knows he has to say one last thing…because she's going…this is it. It has to be. All the blood…

"Thank you. For…giving me a second…chance." He manages to force out.

Her eyes close and she becomes very still. "Don't mention it…don't waste it…"

There's one last long rasping sigh, and Emily 'Gadget' Robins is gone.

**[UPDATE!]**

**[HEART Rate Sensor TF 141]**

**[Disavowed]**

**[SARGE. Emily 'Gadget' Robins K.I.A.]**

**[NO Family to Notify]**

**[NO Replacement Required]**

**[NO Commanding Officer to Inform]**

**[NO Urgent Need To Contact Officials]**

**[END Transmission]**

**Banshee belongs to my faithful reader SAMURI DEATH 97. Thank you for your support and use of your character :) Can't wait to see what you do with your talent. **

**THIS STORY IS NOT FINISHED. **

**Please review! I know I've been updating really quick as of late. That's cause I'm so close to the end. Now is the time for feedback!**

**To everyone who was so terrified of Gadget's death….**

**I am so sorry *****creys***** It's been planned since day one, sooooooo it's nothing against any of you. It's simply…appropriate. Keep reading, and thank you!**


	29. Annette Brown and Her Predicament

**I am sorry.**

**Don't kill me.**

**Please. **

**^-^'**

Annette Brown trudged down the hospital corridor, yawning widely and rubbing her eyes to stay awake. She was supposed to get off work two hours ago. However, one of her co-workers, Rory, had a death in their close family the previous week. Ever the giving one, Annette picked up all of his shifts until he could pull himself back together. After seven days of working her usual day shift and then stretching that into the wee hours of morning the young nurse was beginning to regret her charity.

The emergency doors bang open and four gurneys are rushed in. Nurse Brown presses her back against the wall to allow them to pass. She recognizes the young girl on the first from all the magazine hype and recent news coverage. Alena Vorshevsky. The president's daughter. A little rush of hope warms Annette from the soles of her feet to the tips of her fingers. If they had the daughter then there was still a chance of peace talks! Her hope turns to joy when the second gurney reveals the president himself! Then her joy is quickly turned to ice cold realization when the third gurney rolls along. A man she does not recognize is struggling to breathe, his eyes fluttering wildly as he tries to fight off unconsciousness.

Price pays no mind to the astounded nurse who is pressed against the wall not two feet from him. He's focused on Yuri. The Russian took a serious blow when the cavern began to collapse. He's bleeding from the head, the shoulder, and one of his legs all at once. Not to mention his skull took quite a beating from the debris. Price reaches down and grips Yuri's forearm reassuringly, trying to let him know that he's nearly in the clear. If he can just hold on a bit longer…

Ghost, Terrance, and Steven are lead in separately. Hawkins and Terrance were led quickly away by armed policemen, since they are not as high profile or in as critical a condition as the others, they will be kept on one of the lower floors. Ghost is clearly higher on the doctors' priority list, as he is both incoherent and hysterical. He keeps shouting about going back and his rights to take 'her' with him. No one was sure who 'she' was. "They wouldn't let me bring her! They have to let me go back! Please! You have to understand! I'll die without her! I don't want to die! Not again! Please not again!"

One of the nurses, a petite blonde named Mandy, had to excuse herself from the room. Tears were already working their way to her eyes when she crashed right into Annette. "I can't go in there!" She insisted without explaining the situation. Instead, she merely shoved the patient's file into Nurse Brown's empty arms and rushed off in the opposite direction.

Annette checks her watch. Twenty minutes left on her shift. Looks like she'll have to take this one. She shoulders room 443 open, expecting a bloodied and mangled mess, but instead finding a barely scratched, hysterical young man. Three doctors are trying to restrain him while another nurse is talking to him in a rushed, soft voice. The patient's eyes lock on nurse Brown as she enters and he immeadiately begins to plead with her. "Please! Please, you have to understand! I need her! The voices will come back! Please! I don't want to die again! I don't want to be Simon! Please! Please!" His desperation makes all his words meld together and he becomes completely incoherent as well as uncooperative. His hysteria is constantly on the rise.

Annette Brown has seen her fair share of mentally and emotionally scarred patients. Young as she is, she threw herself into her career head on and never slowed down. This man—She glances at the patient chart in her hands—'Simon Riley' is clearly one of these psychologically disturbed patients. She looks at the pleading, bright blue eyes and sighs. This is going to be a bit longer than twenty minutes.

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ghost blinked slowly, trying to focus his thoughts.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Light gutters into the room. As an unwelcome guest, it burns at his pupils. Ghost groans softly.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The beeping registers and he tries harder to pull himself to full conciousness.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It must be a bomb or something…some sort of trap.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He has to warn the others.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

The sound speeds up, warning Ghost that whatever trap has been set is about to be sprung. He struggles to sit up, but finds he is tied to the spot. Panic sets in and he begins to fight against his bonds. Has to get away! Has to warn the others! Has to save them!

Beep beep beep beep beep beep!

Hands come out of nowhere and press Ghost down. Fear strangles him. They've found him! They're going to kill him! He can hear his own heart beating furiously as if it's trying to keep tempo with the frantic beeping from the bomb.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"NO!" Ghost roars. He lurches forward, breaking out of the bonds. The room swims before his vision but he fights against the swirling. "Get away from me! I have to help them! I have to-!" Liquid ice begins pumping through Ghost's veins and his eyes roll back. From the moment he hits the pillow he's unconscious. The IV tube in his arm continues to feed strong sedatives into Ghost's bloodstream as the doctors around him rush to latch the restraints back in place. Annette readjusts Ghost's position so his neck isn't being strained. The past two hours have been stressful for everyone on this floor. Between Simon Riley's unpredictable outbursts and sorting out the confusion of who he was and whether or not the authorities should be notified, Annette forgot all about her desire to go home and the fact that her shift ended long ago. She'd been dashing back and forth from Riley's room and the President's, caring for each to the best of her ability. More of the staff had been moved to the lower floors to account for the large number of people wounded in a fire, so she'd been left to deal with the high priority patients.

Only Annette was trusted with the details of their predicament. Due to the confusing matter of…well, of having a dead man alive and (fairly) healthy on the fourth floor, a heavily guarded president of the country on the fifth, and the corpse of a young woman who had died over a year ago freshly zipped into her body bag down in the morgue, still wet with blood. It doesn't make any sense to nurse Brown, but she's been on the force for years. Experience and trustworthiness is what has her spending hours by each bedside, trying to put two and two together…and then divide that by zero. Everything about these patients is such a muddle that she can't make heads or tails out of any of their stories.

Simon Riley remains completely incoherent; the President and his daughter know even less about the situation than Nurse Brown does; Nikolai and Yuri refuse to talk until Price will (he's concrete in his decision NOT to); Terrance is silent, though Annette doubts he knows much. So she's left with no information on them and a threat from her boss that if she doesn't get them taken care of he'll be contacting the authorities. Never one to give up on a patient, no matter how uncooperative they are, Annette's been focusing her efforts on getting them taken care of. If it's in their intentions to talk, they'll do so as soon as they trust her.

While she is caring for Riley one afternoon he suddenly comes into consciousness. Confused and groggy, he tries to sit up only to be stopped by the security strap across his chest. "Where…where'm I?"

"You're in a hospital in Russia," Annette answers calmly. She reaches over and touches his forehead gently. Still a bit clammy, but at least his fever has finally broken. "Tell me your name."

"Ghost."

She looks at him oddly. Must be trauma. "How old are you…Ghost?"

"Twenty-nine…" He closes his eyes. The light hurts. "Why am I here?"

"You have been injured."

"I know that but…The president…Is he here? Did we save him? Was the mission a success?"

"He is safe."

"Gadget?" Hope floods the patient's eyes. Annette must look awfully confused, because he elaborates. "Emily. Emily Robins. You brought her back…right?"

Silence.

Fear.

Denial.

It can't be.

Not her.

Please, not her.

God, not her.

She's too strong, too good, too young.

She's got to be alive.

Realization.

"She's dead…"

Annette nods.

Air suddenly weighs ten thousand pounds. The blankets on top of him are suddenly like lead. All at once thought leaves him. All at once the world drops out from beneath him. All at once he breaks.

A great, heaving sob retches itself out of Ghost's chest. He continues to dry heave and shake and cry for what feels like hours to Nurse Brown. No matter what she does to comfort the man he remains inconsolable. He's devastated, but at the same time he seems puzzled. He brings his hands to his face and wipes away the tears, mumbling something about not crying in years before breaking down again.

Unable to take it anymore, Annette presses the button above Simon's bed to call for another nurse. A young, bright eyed woman in her early twenties comes in. Juliet. Annette doesn't trust anyone else on the ward like she does Juliet. "Watch over him. I think she was his girlfriend."

At the word 'girlfriend', Simon's sobs come even harder, shaking his head in disbelief.

Juliet nods and sits down in the chair next to him, takes his hand, and brushes the sweaty locks of hair out of his face. She smiles sadly. "I'm here…It's all right, it's all right. Try to breathe. Don't worry for her right now. She's in no more pain—" She glances at his file "—Simon. Look at me. There, see? I'm right here. You're not alone."

Slightly jealous of (though not ungrateful for) her assistant's ability to calm her patient's with simple words, Nurse Brown slips out of the room. She ignores all the eyes on her (she's never called someone in to take over for a patient before) and makes a beeline for Captain Price's room. She enters without knocking and finds him sitting on the windowsill, smoking out the open window. He looks at her as though looking at a dirty rag before turning his attention back outside and taps the ashes off the end of his cigar. "Can I help you, Brown?"

"Let's talk."

**LOL I LIED :D**

**That took forever. See, I got a new laptop for my birthday (whooo~~) and tried to transfer all my files onto it. WELL, they all got deleted instead ^-^ How wonderful. So, I rewrote this chapter and actually posted it way shorter than originally planned so you guys didn't have to wait as long as you would've had I written it all at once. I apologize.**

**Review, por favor 3**

**EGR~**


	30. What To Live For

"I want…I want to see…Soap. Where's Soap?" Simon forces himself into a sitting position, calling out for 'soap' at the top of his lungs. Juliet tries to get him back under control to no avail. He is completely lost in his ravings and desperation. "Soap? SOAP? Let go of me, I have to see…he'll know…I need…I need…Soap, he'll know! HE'LL KNOW!"

In Price's room the floor below, the captain and Annette Brown are having the stare down of the century. "Let's talk." She repeats, getting comfortable to make it clear that she is not going anywhere until he answers. Price looks her over intently while taking a long drag of his cigar. She's not a terribly imposing figure at five foot five, neither fit nor overweight, and early developing smile lines around her eyes, but Price can see in the way she holds herself that Nurse Brown is not here to take his temperature and hand him a lollipop for being a good boy.

He flicks his cigar stub out of the window carelessly. "Fine. I'm assuming you want to start."

"Yes, captain, I do. But let's ignore both your criminal charges and your heroic rescue of the President and his daughter. Let's talk about Simon, Terrance, Lance, Yuri, and Emily." Annette ticks off each name on her fingers. "Listen, sir, I do this job because I care about the welfare of these patients. Some of these nurses here wouldn't do a single thing to help you. They'd hand you over to officials in a heartbeat. You're lucky your files made it into my hands and not another's. Very lucky."

"I get the idea, Brown. What do you want to know?"

"Simon is upstairs in isolation care because he is in the midst of a mental breakdown. Emily is in a body bag in the morgue even though her record said she was killed in action a year ago. Terrance and Yuri have a running criminal record. Nikolai refuses to speak to anyone. I need to know what the hell is going on so I can—"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, I need to know what is going on so I can—"

"No before that. About Terrance having a criminal record."

Annette leans forward, insistently. "Captain, I assure you, my background check was not incorrect. Terrance has a long line of felonies following him around; smuggling, harboring fugitives, high-tech espionage, crimes against the country…" The list continues for some time and Price falls silent. Terrance has been lying to them. The harboring fugitives thing was already known, but the incredible list of armed robbery and agitated assault begins to put Price's mind on a different track. He needs to speak to Terrance as soon as possible.

Annette's pager begins going off and she pales the moment she looks at it. "Simon is having another fit. You should come. Nothing we've done has calmed him down at all. Maybe having you around will help." She pulls a pair of handcuffs out of her kit.

"Are those really necessary?"

Her serious look says the affirmative better than words ever could. He sighs and holds his hands out in front of him, allowing her to clasp one end around his wrist and the other around her own. Price lifts an eyebrow. "It's both to keep you from running and to keep anyone on the ward from trying anything to get you out of my care. Again, captain, there are people here who want to turn you in."

"Fair enough."

The walk to Simon's room seems to take far too long and not long enough at the same time. Price glares vehemently at the handcuffs. If they're so intent on keeping him here that they'd allow one of their young nurses to chain herself to him, then how was he ever going to get himself and the rest of the team out? They had to escape. They have to kill Makarov.

"Annette! Hurry up! He isn't stable!" A young nurse pokes her head out of room 407, paled and nervous, wringing her hands. Nurse Brown picks up her pace, practically dragging Price along behind her. When they open the door they are greeted with the image of Simon Riley trying desperately to free himself from his restraints. He turns on his visitors with wild eyes, looking like a frightened animal.

In an instant, Simon recognizes Price. "Price! Captain, sir! Please! I have to go to her! I have to help…she needs me, sir, _please_!" His voice breaks and tears begin to roll down his cheeks with refreshed vigor. "_Please, please, please…"_

Price looks meaningfully at Annette, who unlocks the cuffs without hesitation and backs out the door with a warning ("I'll be right outside so don't try anything"). Slowly, the captain draws near to the hospital bed as though approaching a small, skittish creature that could be injured with the slightest false move. Simon continues to strain against his bounds. Answers. He needs answers. He's a lost solider, caught up in the fighting and the violence and the hate. And the responsibility of bringing him to the light is Price. With a weary sigh, the aging captain sinks onto the edge of Simon's bed, placing his hand on the young man's chest. "Listen, son…" The lieutenant stills, desperate to hear what his leader has to say, hope clear in his eyes. "Emily is dead. She died while we were still on the helicopter. You were there for her until the end. You held her in your arms and protected her and did everything you could."

Silence hangs heavily over the pair. Simon has stopped fighting and Price can't decide if that's a good or bad thing. The lieutenant keeps telling himself that this isn't real. It's one of the nightmares. Emily will wake him up soon and tell him it's all right. She'll be there, waiting, like always. She'll get him out of this nightmare. She will. She has to. He tells himself that…but he can't make himself believe it. "I could've done more…"

"No. Don't live like that. Not now. Not after everything she's done for you."

"But, sir, I—"

"Don't waste what she's given you, Riley. I never saw what you were like before she was there, but Soap told me enough. I read your file. You dug yourself into a grave and were nearly buried when she came around. Practically brought you back from the dead, she did. I've seen enough of how you looked at her to understand—don't tell me I don't understand, because I do—I understand that she was your everything. You put so much belief into her, so much trust, more that you've ever given anyone, and now she's gone." Price grips the front of Simon's shirt and hoists him up as far as the restraints will allow. "I was there when you lost her, Riley. I watched her die, too. I heard her last words just like you did. What were they?"

"Price, I don't want to—"

"What were they, lieutenant?"

"I—"

"What. Were. They?"

Simon grits his teeth. "'Don't waste it…'"

"And what'd she mean by that, Riley?"

He hesitates. Bitterness clings to his gut, swallowing all the other thoughts he might've been able to focus on. There's just the self-hatred and knowing that he'd been the one to cause her death. "She meant she'd given it up for me. She'd died…for me. It was my fault and she didn't want me to waste her sacrifice."

Tears burn his cheeks as Simon waits for Price to confirm his words. Emily's face swims in his imagination, bloody and smiling shakily. Pale. Fragile. So unlike she'd been in life. The blood should be paint from training, the weak smile a broad grin of triumph, the sickly paleness should be aglow with glee, and the fragility should be strength. It's all wrong, his last image of her. Emily's last minutes were agony. Sheer pain and fear. She deserved a quiet death or at least a quick, heroic one. And what she'd gotten was a slow, bloody, demeaning demise. The tears flood faster and Simon squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the image. It only intensifies.

"You're a fool, Ghost."

His head snaps up in surprise. Price lets go of his shirt, leaving him to fall back against the mattress.

"That's not what she was saying. She wasn't scolding you or telling you what to do with her gift. She was telling you not to let yourself die again." Captain Price pulls Ghost's balaclava from his pocket. He places it in Simon's hand and shakes his head. "Emily understood you better than any of us. She realized that once she was gone, you'd be alone again. You're never going to find anyone like that girl, Simon. You're never going to find someone to trust like you trusted her. You know why?"

"Because…because…" Simon can't think of the reason.

"Because," Price smiles sadly, "You won't let yourself. You finally let yourself love someone. You can't let yourself let go. You should, yes, but you can't. It's not your fault that she's gone, but you'll always blame yourself. She was your second chance, Simon, your second chance at life. Literally, you hit rock bottom, and she _dragged _you back to your feet. Now you're scared to live without her. Am I wrong?"

Simon can't meet Price's eyes. "No…"

"But you know you have to try, don't you?"

"Not to answer a question with a question, sir, but do I? Why should I? What else do I have to live for?"

Price reaches into his pocket again, but this time, he presents Simon with Emily's dog tags and other personal belongings that she'd had with her when she'd died. Annette had given them to him when they'd first taken away Emily's remains. Since there were no family members to send the effects to, Price felt that Simon has every right to keep them. He places the objects on the nightstand and fixes his teammate with a very serious look. "Live for her. That's what she wanted. Your second chance."

Sobs are the only thing that fills the silence. Price sits comfortingly with Simon until the lieutenant falls asleep nearly two hours later. With one last glance back at him, Price exits, is chained to Annette once again, and led to his own room to get some sleep.

Ghost sleeps soundly.

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"Anyone gotta light?" Gadget asks with her eyes remaining fixed on the card in her hands. Judging by the slight smirk, she's gotten an excellent deal. She looks up at Ghost, then face palms. "Oh wait, I've got mine right here." She pulls her red lighter out of her pocket and flicks it on, lighting the end of the cigarette in her mouth. "Your turn, Simon."

Shocked and unable to tear his eyes off of Gadget, Ghost jumps. "Oh…uh…I…uh…"

"You all right, Ghost?" Her voice. Her _voice. _It's there and real and musical and just like he remembers. It's safety and comfort and home. It's perfect. The scratchiness from her capture in Russia is gone, leaving behind only warmth. But, it doesn't sound any different at the same time. His confusion must be really obvious because she smiles mischievously, just like she did when she was alive. "You didn't think we'd forget about you, did ya? C'mon, you're not that easy to forget." Emily reaches over and touches his cheek. Her skin is warm. It's smooth. It's not calloused or bloody or marred. It's perfect. He can't look away.

She smiles again and the room gets brighter. "I'm here."

He reaches out and places his hands on her shoulders. She's solid, real, _there. _Ghost doesn't know what to do with himself, full to the brim with comfort and relief. A thousand questions flood his mind, but it feels like there's no need to ask any of them. Emily is there. Right there in front of him. There's no blood. There's no fear. They're alone. Everything feels right.

It's strange to see her like this; without scars or flaws. But in a weird sort of way, it's like she's always been like this. To him at least. Emily presses her forehead against his and laughs. It sounds so close. So real. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to sit in his lap. "I love you," she whispers.

Ghost sleeps peacefully that night. The nurses were all expecting a rough one since it was their patients first period of natural sleep since he'd entered the ward, but he never even stirred. For fifteen hours, Annette could focus on sorting out the story. Price was more willing to give details, as were Steven, Lance, and Yuri.

In room 309, Lance stares out his open window, rubbing his injured arm thoughtfully. There's a soft knock at the door and it swings open before he can tell whoever is there to go away. Turning round with the intention of telling the intruder to screw off, Lance finds himself face-to-face with a timidly smiling Steven Hawkins. The two regard each other in uncomfortable silence. Steven remains in the doorway.

"Well?" Lance says after the silence goes on far too long for his liking, eyebrows knit together tightly.

"Well what?" Steven repeats, entering the room and glancing around warily before closing the door behind him.

"Aren't you here to try and comfort me or something? Don't you have some sort of grand advice for me?"

"Listen, mate, I'm just an actor. Talk to Emi…Price if you want advice. I'm no good with that."

There's an awkward silence between them. Steven shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes away from the form in the window. "How is everyone?"

"They'll only let me see you and Terrance. Won't tell me anything about anyone…"

"You're joking!"

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Steven flops backwards on the bed, not at all caring if he's welcome there or not. The whole mess has him stuck here instead of shooting 'Head Over Heels' or whatever movie he's working on now. Speaking of which, he'd better call his boss and explain why he's been missing for over three weeks… In fact, his entire fan base is probably having a mental breakdown. Hopefully Katarina, his agent, can handle things. "Can I turn on the TV? I need to see something?"

"No, they disconnected it. Can't even turn it on." Lance sighs and slides off the windowsill.

"Oh…"

The silence stretches on once again.

Since they don't really know each other at all, Steven struggles to find something to say. This man just lost his whole squad…what do you say to that? If he had a scripted monologue, Steven could probably convince a bat that it needs to get more sunlight without a shred of doubt, but without anything to go by he's a bit lost. "I…how was Alena? She seemed sort of shaken up when we first got her here."

"She's all right now that she knows her father is ok." Alena Vorshevsky had taken to Lance quickly. He pins it on her appreciation for him saving her life. He'd been there when she was battered and wounded and desperate. He'd been something to lean on. That's it. All he can think about is how his teammates, all of them, are dead. "I mean…she's safe now so…"

"Yeah…you all right?"

"Fine."

The door swings open and Steven's pretty, blonde nurse pokes her head in. "Mr. Hawkins, your time is up, I'm afraid."

"You call me if you need anything. Will they let you leave your room?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Well, come and…visit I suppose." He slides easily off the bed and goes over to his nurse, grinning charismatically at her. Lance turns his back away but can faintly hear her giggle and, after the door shuts, Steven says, "Now, do I have to go back to my room right away, or do you have time for lunch…?"

Price closes the door to Ghost's room behind him, sighing deeply. He rubs his hand over his face, tired and irritated, when Annette practically jumps him. "You've been in there forever! Is he all right? Did he say anything? Did you get him to calm down? Should I order more medication?"

"Nurse Brown," He places his hands on her shoulders to calm her. She stills herself and takes a deep breath. "He's fine. Just upset. Emily meant a lot to him."

"The girl in the morgue?"

Price grits his teeth. "Her _name _is Emily."

"John, what exactly do you take me for? Emily Robins, Sergeant of the Task Force 141 was killed over a year ago. I read the report, 'Captain'. She died on a mission _you _sent her on, along with the rest of her squad. Along with Simon Riley, who you claim is in that room there." She points at Ghost's closed door. "Her father buried her ashes in his backyard beneath an oak tree, claiming that he'd been away for her for too long and didn't want her to rot away in a lot somewhere. How am I supposed to call him up and insist that his daughter is downstairs in my morgue?"

Price's head swims with this new information. As far as he knew, Emily hadn't had contact with her father in years. How would Shepherd know where to send her remains? The report must be a fake… God, he wishes Soap were here. He'd know how to make sense of this mess.

"And that's without even _mentioning _the mess that _you're _in. One of the most wanted men in _several _countries." Annette plants her hands on her hips. "_**Several, **_captain Price. To top it all, you've got Yuri and Terrance with you, two _more _wanted criminals. And Steven Hawkins! Do you have any idea how famous Steven _Hawkins _is? And then there's that Nikolai fellow."

When Annette finally falls silent, Price cocks an eyebrow at her. "You haven't gotten a lot of sleep since we got here, have you?"

"Captain, I haven't gotten a lot of sleep since I got this job. Since you've arrived, I've gotten none."

"Then you wouldn't be willing to do me one more favor, would you?"

"I've done you nothing but favors, Price. Do you realize how hard it is to keep both the public media and the government out of this? The President is here."

"I'll take that as a 'no'." Price sighs dejectedly.

Annette's eyes sparkle. "I never said 'no'." There's a soft metallic _click! _and Price looks down to find himself handcuffed to her once again. "Where to?"

He weighs his options carefully. Yuri probably doesn't know what to do with himself. Wounded in more ways than one, the Russian is probably kicking himself because Gadget's dead. They'd gotten close in the short amount of time they knew each other…

But then there's Terrance to think about. What if he's not really on their side? First things first, get rid of any traitors. That has to be the priority. Yuri's already proved himself. Terrance could be feeding information to people outside of their interests. "Terrance's room."

"Thought so."

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Light interrupts Simon's slumber and he rolls over, grumbling. His arms loop around Emily's waist and pull her close. He can hear her breathing. With a soft sigh of relief, he buries his face in her shoulder. Comfort and peace flow freely through him. Total calm. But then the warmth begins to fade. She starts to slip out of his grasp, becoming less and less solid by the second. In a moment of panic, Simon's eyes snap open. And she's gone completely.

Realization of where he is weighs Simon down heavily and he collapses onto his mattress, hiding his face in the pillow. It was just a dream. Emily's dead. He's alone. One realization follows another. He didn't have nightmares. There were no bombs or screaming children or skeletons. No blood. No fear. Only Emily.

Disturbed by the sudden change in his ability to sleep, Ghost sits up. The restraints are gone from his wrists, but his legs are still firmly held in place. He lifts the blanket hesitantly to make sure they're still ok. A few bandages, but they're still intact. Which is a miracle considering how many rocks fell on him. Simon takes account of each injury. Broken ribs, at least two, cuts and bruises along his arms, sprained wrist…nothing terribly serious. He blinks rapidly, making sure that his eyes aren't damaged. They're not. Good. One less thing to worry about. He stretches his arms over his head and breathes in slowly. No damage to the lungs or throat either, although his ribs hurt like hell.

Sighing softly, he turns to face the side table. The bag of Emily's personal belongings, her dog tags on top, are there. Silently they confirm his fears. Being with her was all a dream. She's dead. They didn't sit quietly together and play cards. It was just his mind making wishes again.

The bag and Simon share a foreboding stare down for several minutes before he scoops it up. "What've you got for me?" He murmurs, slipping her dog tags around his neck. Emily didn't usually carry much with her on missions before the betrayal, but her habits had changed. Ever since then, she's kept little things with her at all times to keep her hopes up.

Ghost gazes at Emily's belongings, understanding the meaning behind each and every one of them. Pictures and notes that would mean little to a stranger are like hunks of gold to Simon as memories swirl around his hazy mind. A small figurine of a soldier practically breaks his heart when Ghost remembers when a little girl in the village of Tikrit had given it to Gadget. How long ago that was…before everything became such a mess… "For you. I promise." He whispers, clenching Emily's dog tags in his hand. Price is right. She's what he'll live for.

The door opens slowly and Simon looks up to see who the intruder is. "Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt, I…I will go." Alena Vorshevsky stands in his doorway, all fixed up. She's even got makeup on.

"No, please, come in." Ghost carefully sets aside the gifts and gestures at the small armchair next to his bed. The girl hesitantly enters and sinks into the chair, eyes never leaving Ghost's face. He glances away, wishing for his balaclava. It's none of her business what he looks like. Plus, he doesn't want to risk seeing his reflection in her eyes. God only knows what he'd see now that he's lost his everlasting light.

Alena seems uncomfortable too and becomes intrigued by the pattern on the curtains. "I…wished to speak with you. I did not get the chance to…properly thank you." She stumbles through her English, pausing to think of words every now and again. "So…thank you."

He forces a smile. "You're welcome."

She hesitates again, biting her lip. "Your name?"

"Gh—Simon. Simon Riley." He's reminded distantly of Nikolai. Where is that bloke anyways?

"Simon." Alena tries the name out, scrunching up her nose. "Well…Simon, there is something else I wish to speak to you about."

"Go on."

The Russian woman readjusts her position uncomfortably. "I am…aware that the girl meant a lot to you. That you were involved. And I wished to apologize." She recognizes the flash of pain across his face. Slowly, she reaches out and touches his hand. "I believe that…she was a good woman. She was kind. There is nothing that my father and I can do to fix what has…happened to her, but we wish to help. My father will sort out your records so there is no longer any…criminal charges against you. It is the least that we can do."

Both relief and bitterness swirl in the pit of his stomach. Relief because now they don't have to run from the police anymore. Bitterness because, even though he knows it is unfair, Simon blames the Vorshevsky's despite his knowledge that it is not at all their fault that Emily died. However, he can't shake the feeling. "Thank you."

She smiles. There's a strangely companionable silence between them as Simon stares at the ceiling and Alena studies her shoes. After a while she looks up at him. "You are…healing?"

"Getting there, yeah. It's a slow process though."

Nodding in agreement, Alena pats his hand gently. "Father says the same. But I trust that you will be permitted to return home soon. I must go now. Contact me if you ever need assistance." Alena walks out the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Then she freezes.

Steven Hawkins is standing next to a young, beautiful, blonde nurse not two feet away. Well, more like pressed against her. He's got one arm around her waist and his face nestled in the crook of her neck. The blonde is giggling girlishly and looking over his shoulder at the other nurses who are fuming behind the desk. Alena feels her face turn six different shades of red. She clears her throat loudly. "Я вижу, у вас есть новая девушка, чтобы держать вас теплой ночью."

The two lurch away from each other and whirl around to face Alena. Steven blushes brightly. "Alena, I… Нет! Это не так, я просто ... с ней разговаривать. Он ничего не было."

"Ах, да, я уверен." Alena scoffs and stalks away, Steven chasing after her, speaking in rapid Russian.

Annette rolls her eyes at Juliet. "Did it really only take you that long to let him send you 'head over heels'?"

"Shut it," Juliet blushes and nervously fools with her hair, fixing it unnecessarily. "He's just…sweet."

"Yeah, a real prince, I'm sure. You know who that girl was, right?"

"Mmmmm?" Juliet murmurs, still gazing the direction Steven had gone.

"Alena Vorshevsky."

It's Juliet's turn to go from blushing to completely red in the face. "Please tell me you're joking…"

"Nope."

_**Okie doke~**_

**I was super sick today so I wrote this whole thing. I sure hope it came out well :) **

**Plenty of cliffhangers:**

**Emily's father has come back into the picture**

**Terrance apparently has extensive criminal background**

**Ghost is still all angstyish**

**Lance and Alena? Steven and Alena? Juliet and Steven? What? Is this romance?**

**Nikolai is…where?**

**Can Price prove that Emily and Simon are actually who they say they are?**

**Is Annette with the 141 to stay?**

**Leave your guesses as reviews~~**

**Have a swell day everyone!**


	31. Relief and Grief

For the next few hours, Ghost alternates between gazing at the few bits he has left of Gadget, clinking her dog tags together, and staring up at the ceiling.

Right now, he's examining a photograph of the team. He and Gadget are standing side by side looking straight into the camera (Ghost with his glasses off and mask on) with a pose that screams 'badasses', Roach is on his side on the floor next to them doing his best impression of Rose from the Titanic ("Oh, paint me like one of your French girls"), Meat's got one arm around Worm and the other around Archer, Scarecrow and Ozone are squishing Toad between them, and Royce and Mactavish are laughing off to the side at the rest of them, as though unaware of being in the frame. Simon can't help but feel anguish as he gazes at the photo. Everyone looking back at him is dead, with the exception of only himself. Such solid evidence of being alone twists his heart in a thousand different directions.

He sets the photograph aside and buries his face in his hands. Tears sting his eyes and Ghost takes his time pulling himself together. The pain from his injuries calls his attention and he flops back onto his mattress, fumbling overhead for the 'Call Nurse' button.

The bright eyed, smiling blonde scurries in. "You all right, Mr. Riley?"

"It all hurts again." He hisses through his teeth, trying to block the worst of the white hot pain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Riley, but we're not allowed to give you medication until the trial is over."

"Trial?"

The next few weeks are Simon's personal hell. As if things weren't already bad enough. The pain of healing would've been miserable on its own, but now he has to endure it in front of a jury.

Steven Hawkings is the defending attorney. It amazes Ghost to no ends how the man had been willing to leave his ludicrous job as a lawyer just to appear in movies. Really. The things people do…

The first few days are grueling. Mainly, the witness statements are read. And more statements are read. And more.

Then comes the really hard part. The testimonials. Hours and hours of rough questioning and accusations and finger pointing. Ghost is raked over the coals. His sanity is thrown into question, his violent past is exposed. Every mistake he'd made while serving in the SAS and 141 is scrutinized in an effort to defile his credibility and mar every chance they've got left for freedom. The others are too, of course, but it seems that Ghost takes the brunt of the questioning.

The trial as a whole takes three and a half weeks. Twenty three days of agony for the whole team.

When it comes down to the convictions, there are mixed emotions.

Gadget and Soap are both given a posthumous wipe of their ledgers, clearing their names. Their bodies are to be moved to a proper resting place and marked with a monument to honor them and the rest of the 141 who fell to the betrayal. Shepherd's posthumous honors are to be stripped. And that's not even the good news. Price is acquitted of the charges against him. Victory. Promise. Freedom.

But the judge continues.

Terrance is sentenced to five years in prison for his crimes against the country. He pleads guilty and gets some of the time shaved off, but his ledger of espionage is going to hang heavily over him for quite some time. Odds are, he'll get off early for good behavior, but that doesn't lessen the blow for him. Terrance leaves the courtroom in handcuffs and is bustled into a police cruiser.

It's a shame, but he accepts it with dignity, giving the others a sad smile when he's tugged away by the officers.

Nikolai has a very close brush with arrest as well. With all that he's done as far as transporting known criminals for cash, there's very stable grounds for arresting him. However, in light of the nature of many of the jobs, the jury votes to excuse him.

There was a moment of breathlessness, then a sigh of relief.

Yuri is excused as well on the grounds that he will remain fighting for the US for the remainder of the war.

When it comes down to Ghost, he's given an unpleasant surprise. He's being sent to a psych ward to be given 'professional help' and will not be released until signed off by his psychologist there.

The Shadow Company members who were under Shepherd's command and had their part in his plot are arrested and awaiting trial.

Finally. Finally it's over.

The funeral is small, quiet. The casket remains closed throughout the service. Emily is buried next to her brother, Alex. Inscribed upon the headstone is, quite simply; "Here lies Emily Robins, who died fighting for her country and all that she believed in. Just as she wanted."

In attendance are Simon Riley, John Price, Nikolai, and Steven Hawkins. Alena and her father publically send their condolences. Emily's father, Martin, shows up with Lily, Alex's widowed wife. Martin says nothing to the group that was closest to Emily, but Lily walks straight up to Simon and throws her arms around him, weeping openly.

Twenty days later, the war is officially over.

A monument is enacted in memory of the dead warriors of the 141 in Washington, DC; a large, dark marble slab depicting the backs of a small group of soldiers standing proudly. Fearlessly awaiting the massive wave of enemies that is visible against the horizon. One is shorter than the rest, a tiny ponytail sticking out from beneath their helmet.

**[ERROR]**

**[RETRACING Signal]**

**[STANDBY]**

**[LOADING…]**

**[…]**

**[LOADING…]**

**[…]**

**[SIGNAL Found]**

**[LIEUTENANT Simon 'Ghost' Riley]**

**[STATUS: Institutionalized]**

**[UNFIT FOR COMBAT]**

**[WASHINGTON Hospital for the Mentally Unstable]**

**[INTERVIEW Room B]**

**[UNDER Charge Of: Dr. Tina Ross]**

"Mr. Riley—"

"Look, Miss Ross, I appreciate what you're trying to do here." Doctor Ross shifts in her chair about to argue with him. Simon puts up a hand (at least as far as the restraints on his wrists will allow) to silence her. She has the sense to remain quiet. "I understand that it is your job to…cope with me and try to lead me to a healthy state of mind, or whatever, but we've had this conversation a hundred times before. There is nothing you can do."

The psychiatrist examines her patient with piercing eyes as he sinks back into his seat, looking quite comfortable. Tina Ross had dealt with her fair share of difficult patients, but they were violent or all together incoherent. She'd managed well then. Now, Simon Riley sits on the opposite side of her desk; passive, half-smiling, and completely impossible to 'deal' with. He almost looks sane. Almost. Anyone without experience would believe he was. During their previous session, however, he'd snapped. She'd made the mistake of bringing up his time serving in conjunction with American soldiers. Brought up Rojas. He'd snapped.

Miss Ross decided to skirt around that subject until he brought it up himself…well…if he ever brought it up. Simon tilts his head slightly to one side, as if listening intently as someone whispers in his ear. He chuckles softly and nods.

Averting her eyes and focusing on her clipboard, Miss Ross scribbles down a few notes. Simon leans forward as far as he can before the restraints on his wrists reach their limit. He sighs and settles back again. Who cares what the shrink thinks anyways? 

"Mr. Riley, thank you for speaking your mind." She always thanks him for speaking his mind. "That's what you're here for." Always reminding him what he's here for. "But you are very wrong on several counts. My job is not to 'cope with you'. My job is also not the sole reason I am here." She sets down her pen, pushes aside her notes, rounds the desk, and leans against the desktop. It's the closest she'd ever dared to come to him. "I am here because I read your case and recognized that you aren't any more guilty of treason than I am. You're unstable, yes, but not to the point that you should give up."

Her warm hand settles on top of his bound one. She continues, "I chose your case. I didn't get assigned. And as much as you'd hate to accept it, I'm not just a job oriented quack."

Simon remains silent, staring coldly at her hand. Arthritis has clearly ravaged her knuckles as an ugly badge of age. He wonders fleetingly if Emily would've attained such a badge if she'd lived long enough. She'd certainly used and abused her hands with work…

"Miss Ross…" He starts, but falls silent. She nods encouragingly. "Have you ever killed someone?"

Ice runs down her throat. Slowly, she shakes her head. Doctor Ross forces the fear not to reach her now stretched smile.

He smirks bitterly, flicking his wrist to get her hand off as if it's an irritating bug being shooed. "I didn't think so."

"You had to do what you did, Mr. Riley, don't blame youse—" Always telling him not to blame himself.

"You ever hold the one person that ever made you feel sane again and watch blood slip from between their lips? _No._ Did you ever cling to their broken body and beg—_**beg**_—them to stay with you? _No._ You never had your final memory of the one person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with be them crumpling against you under enemy gunfire. You never had to tell someone that it was all gonna be all right. Never had to _lie_ like _that_. You never watched the life drain out of the most beautiful thing in your world. You have _**never **_heard someone tell you that they love you with their last breath. It wasn't your fault when your dearly beloved died. _You don't know what blame __**is**__._" His eyes burn brightly now. Fear swells up in Tina Ross's chest, her heart leaping to her throat. "How could you _**possibly **__understand_, then?"

Silence. Miss Ross doesn't know what to say for the first time in her long, long career. Her mouth hangs open and a few pathetic, half-words tumble out. Simon tilts his head again, but this time his lips fall into a confused frown. Then he nods in resignation and looks pleadingly up at his fear-stricken psychiatrist.

"All I have left is the drive to get a job done. Here—" He indicates the room, the psych ward, the whole of simplistic society with one simple twitch of his fingers "—I've got nothing. No reason. No purpose. I can't live, Miss Ross. I can survive just fine, but to what end? What's the point?" He leans forward imploringly. "Please…you have to understand. I can't stay here any longer. And there's nothing you can do for me here. No medication you give me will get me closure." The ties on his wrists are digging in painfully, but Simon doesn't pay that any attention. "You can't do anything to help me…nothing but sign my release."

"Two months of treatment is not nearly enough for your condition, Mr. Riley!"

"THEN HOW LONG IS LONG ENOUGH?"

For the entire time Miss Ross has been working with Simon he has never raised his voice. Not once. No matter how much she pushed him. No matter how irritated he got. It's like something frightening and wild has been released. Something dangerous. But also, something desperate. He's been backed into a corner, surrounded by the pressing facts; he's not sane, he's alone, he's lost the only person who mattered. Doctor Ross, with all her education and training and understanding of the inner workings of the human mind, can only imagine what her patient is feeling.

Two nights later, Simon is packing his few belongings and making preparations to leave the ward.

**I have to apologize. I keep doing this. I know it's awful, but life keeps going mad. My older sister is getting ready to move out, I got a job, my house is getting renovated. Things are just wild! **

**I'm sincerely sorry for all the time it took to get this up.**


	32. One Objective

"Are you all right?"

The question is met with silence.

"Steven?" It's been years since she's said his name so gently. Years since she's reached out and touched his hand the way she does now. Years since Alena has offered any sort of tenderness towards him. At first, Steven isn't sure how to react.

"Just…just give me a minute…" He mutters, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Alena nods slowly, gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and lets the silence engulf them once again. The graveyard is empty save for their little group. All cameras and reporters were ducked. With them gone, it's like a layer of Hawkins has been pulled away and left in the freshly lain dirt. Whenever there's a lens directed at him there's an easy smile directed at the lens. Now it's as though his countenance is something real. Something tangible. There's pain and sorrow. But also…something more.

Alena looks over at Captain Price. He's smoking passively, eyes fixed at the same point Steven's are. But his are void of that pain, that sorrow. It's something he's experienced so many times it doesn't surface easily. However, Alena can see that…whatever it is in Steven's eyes reflected in the Captain's. It's more intense and prominent and it sends chills through her. There's a determination to it. A strong will that won't be shaken.

There are tears in Yuri's eyes. He and Gadget had been friends, Alena knows. She didn't realize how significant she was to him, though. It never added up. To the woman's knowledge, Gadget and Yuri's relationship had been professional. An exchange of words, maybe a smile, all business, all focus. Trust had been in question. Yuri turns his back. Places his face in his hands. Heaves a sigh. And she realizes; this isn't about Gadget to him. It's another life wrecked, another light extinguished because he failed. The urge to reach out and comfort him is strong.

"She would not want us to linger so long." Nikolai says lowly.

"It's not exactly up to her now, is it?" Derek lights a cigarette. He didn't used to smoke.

Shit changes.

Alena gives Steven's hand a squeeze when he stiffens defensively. "Nikolai is right. There are things you must do to prepare." She reminds him.

There is a collective agreement.

"Goodbye my friend," Nikolai reverently places his hand on top of the headstone.

Price does the same after Nikolai turns and walks away, drawing Yuri and Derek along after him. He sighs heavily and reads the inscription. "She would've hated this, y'know. Sounds too much like something that bastard Shepherd would say."

"It's not all that bad." Steven laughs weakly. His voice cracks slightly and he clears his throat. "'scuse me…" He follows the others, releasing Alena's hand.

The two stand in silence for several moments. "I think that she would be very proud of all of you." Alena says kindly. "I did not know her well, Captain. But she seemed like someone who would not wish for you to linger on thoughts of her."

Another moment of silence. The captain lets his hand fall away from the stone and he nods. "She wanted us to finish it.

"_And we're going to."_

Derek falls behind the others. "Are you coming, my friend?" Nikolai calls back.

Frost nods tersely. "Yeah…just…go ahead. I'll catch up."

"Right."

The walk is long. Gadget was buried on the opposite end of the graveyard. That's ok though. Derek capitalizes on the time. Figuring out what he should say. Whether or not he should say anything. Debating whether he should even go see. Of course he should. Shouldn't he?

But it's too late to turn back, because he's there.

William Fichtner. Sandman. Idris Elba. Truck. Timothy Olyphant. Grinch. The bodies were never recovered from beneath the rubble of the mine. It's probably better that way though. They never would've wanted so much time, energy, and resources to be wasted on an effort like that.

Especially not Sandman.

"I…"

Suddenly all the words Frost had to say are gone. There's nothing to say. They're dead and gone and free. He's here. That's about the extent of it.

"I…"

He tries again anyways, but the words are lost again. It's like scrabbling at thin air. Trying to grab something that's not there. Like reaching out in hopes of catching a bubble in your palm, only to have it pop. So instead, Frost swears and falls to his knees in the dirt and rests his forehead against warm rock.

He could've sat there for ten minutes. An hour. A heartbeat. Frost's not sure and, frankly, doesn't care.

A hand rests on his shoulder and his instincts snap into defense mode. Grabbing the person's wrist, he whirls around. Alena takes a frightened step back. A moment of silence, of understanding. They both know that there's nothing to say.

Frost stands up, casts one last look at the memorial, and allows Alena to lead him along.

Ghost is granted release.

One objective.

One goal.

One thing on Ghost's mind.

Kill Makarov.

"It is good to have you back, my friend."

"Good to be back." Ghost shakes Nikolai's hand, tone flat. He's got his mask on. He's untouchable. Similar condolences are exchanged with Yuri, Price, and Steven, all with equally monotonous similarity.

They all notice.

They all say nothing.

It's been too long since Ghost has had a gun in his hands, he decides. Too long since he's allowed his mind to become so distant and so focused. So long since he's let go. Since he's been Ghost.

The feelings aren't all together pleasant.

And yet, they're all welcome.

There's planning and there's preparation. Days of tracking and calculating and wracking their brains for clues. A week goes by. Then two.

It's all a blur to Ghost. None of it matters.

Only one thing matters.

Kill Makarov.

One goal.

One objective.

The mirror is a liar.

Gadget smiles at Ghost. He blinks rapidly. She laughs even though it doesn't make a sound, nodding her head as if confirming his suspicions. Yes, it's only his imagination. The mirror is, as always, lying to him. He's alone in the bathroom. Gadget's not standing behind him, smiling over his shoulder, a cigarette burning between her fingers. She's dead.

He knows it's a lie because when he looks back, the only thing there is the shower curtain.

She's dead.

She's gone.

There's nothing he can do to change that.

Dragging his eyes off of her lying smile and forces himself out of the bathroom. Leaves false hope behind. Survives and hunts for Makarov and nothing more.

"Got him! I got him!" Steven suddenly cries, practically leaping from his chair with jubilation. "He tripped up."

January 21st

The date sticks in Ghost's warped and blurred mind.

January 21st

Finally.

Finally.

Makarov made a mistake. "It'll be his last," Ghost whispers. He feels a hand slip into his and give a light squeeze. A chin rests on his shoulder. But she's not there. The feeling's not real. He looks and there's no one standing next to him. Ghost's hand closes into a fist and he steels his heart. "His last."

They are deployed quickly and without error. The small team of four men are dropped into the Arabian Peninsula, one objective on their minds.

Kill Makarov.

As they sit in the armored vehicle and strap on their gear, a thick sensation takes hold of the air. Ghost wets his lips and shifts from sitting up straight to leaning into his knees. "I feel exposed." He murmurs to Steven.

"That's what this is for." Hawkins taps the Juggernaut gear on his chest, smirking slightly. There's been a change in the young man since Ghost met him. He used to smile constantly, charmingly. Used to make jokes and flirt with every woman who passed. Used to. Now there's a sage-like wisdom to the way he carries himself. It's like he feels the unbearable weight of their mission at last. Steven gets it, Ghost realizes.

Ghost looks away. That's not what he meant by exposed.

"You are sure this armor will protect us?" Yuri asks, looking to the younger man next to him.

A grim expression takes over Steven's face. "It'll buy us time."

"Brilliant." Ghost mutters, pulling his helmet on.

Price, who has been silent for the whole trip, keys in to their radio that connects them with each other. "Nikolai, are you patched into their system?"

"Working on it. My arming is a little rusty."

Ghost laughs at something no one else heard.

They all pretend they don't hear him.

Steven swallows thickly.

The sound of guns firing, bullets against metal, distorted shouting voices all bombard the men at once. "Holy shit…" Steven secures his helmet.

"Looks like they know we are here." Yuri says, shaking his head.

Again, the radio comes to life, bringing Nikolai's voice. "I've tapped into their security feed. Makarov's in the atrium at the top floor."

Their plan is simple. Get in any way they can. Kill Makarov. Get out if they can. A three step process with a goal that can be reached by any of them. Derek and Nikolai may be able to, by some miracle, get close enough to wipe out the bastard without even getting out of their helicopter. Or, the ground team compiled of Ghost, Price, Yuri, and Hawkins could beat them to it. Either way; the job will get done.

Ghost prays he gets to Makarov first.

"This is it. Makarov doesn't leave here alive." Price's words sound very nearly prophetic as the armored car screeches to a halt. Immediately, they're all on their feet, moving a bit slow due to their cumbersome juggernaut armor.

The gun is heavy in Steven's hands. Despite the planning and the training and the preparation, it still feels foreign there. Too large. Too powerful. The largest weapon he'd carried previous to this day was a little handgun that he'd use for personal protection only. Even then, he hadn't had to shoot it very often. An automatic machine gun like the one he's got now—the one he's about to kill people with—makes it seem childish.

Yuri throws all of his weight against the back doors. They smash open, revealing the road filled with security guards armed to the teeth in front of the building's entrance. It's a long walk. But they're not complaining.

Four sets of legs are pushing forward. They are walking as immortals through the throngs of guards. Raining down death upon their enemies' heads. The first wave lasts only seconds before they're all dead. None of the four immortals are scratched.

Ghost smiles, pushing forward beneath the weight of his gear. "C'mon then."

"We've got their attention! Second wave of responders coming any second." Price shouts.

They waste no time pressing on. Time is valuable. Makarov will undoubtedly hear about their arrival and rabbit out of here. Slip away again. Disappear.

They can't let that happen. They won't let that happen. They will kill him this time.

Whatever the cost.

Steven can feel his heart in his throat. He can feel every ounce of blood in his veins. Every breath he takes seems to resound through him. Every shift of his muscles, every step, every blink seems immense and important and so very, very there. He's so alive. So in tune with everything. Because he knows one slip up, one mistake, one instant of carelessness could be the end.

It's scary as hell.

It's exhilarating.

The group makes it about ten yards before a careening car flies into view. "Here they come, right on schedule." Yuri says.

"Shoot the cars!" Price orders.

Another feeling of immortality washes through Ghost as he fires at the vehicles. They go screeching out of control, destroyed because he wants them to be. And nothing can hurt him because he's the one behind the biggest gun, he's the one who is protected with nearly impenetrable armor. Not those who sit behind the wheel.

Even with nearly endless waves of guards and the burden of their gear slowing them all down, it doesn't take long to reach the doors of the 'Oasis'. And all Steven can think about is how this is not a place for war. How the doors had once opened to soft music and peaceful air. Now they bring with them automatic weapons and indestructible determination. Yes, this is no place for war. However, it has made a home here anyways.

"Makarov's got a small army in there." Frost reports.

Ghost thinks only a moment before responding. "It won't help him. Take control of the lifts so he can't escape."

"On it."

Steven lifts his gun to mow down another line of guards, gritting his teeth against the wave of revulsion to it. "Woah! Woah! Woah! Civilians! Watch your fire!" Ghost shouts at him.

Blinking, it registers to Steven that he's got his gun pointed at innocence. He averts his aim quickly. "Thanks."

A grunt is his only reply.

They enter the building without hesitation, letting the throngs of screaming civilians pour out past them. "Nikolai, where's Makarov?" Price demands.

"Still in the atrium, but he's on the move."

"Don't lose him! We're almost there."

Almost there. It's almost over. Ghost keeps repeating it to himself. He wants to believe that. Wants to know that they can do this and they can kill him and that they will kill him. But, they've always been 'almost there'. Time and time again it's seemed as though that maniac would finally be dead. And he'd always slip away. Always escape. Always win.

How can Ghost believe any different?

Yuri shouts, "Hostiles! On the escalator!"

The fight through the foyer is just as fast and short lived as the fight outside. Steven dares to hope. He hasn't been struggling as long as the others, hasn't been this close before. He can feel that this is it; they're going to make it. Even with the heavy knowledge that they've still got a ways to go Steven is starting to believe that they're going to kill him. They're going to win.

His innocence hasn't been peeled away so completely. Not yet.

They make it up the escalator. Alarms and screaming and gunfire echo all around them. And yet, Ghost feels like all he can hear is his own breathing. The beating of his own heart.

The immortals walk among mere men, wiping them out with little effort. Little fear.

"Ok, I've got control of the elevators. Sending them to your floor." Frost finally reports.

'Gadget would've had it done sooner.' Ghost thinks bitterly.

Can't think like that now. Push forward. Focus. One objective. Kill Makarov.

Civilians scamper out of the elevator as the doors open and the four let them run past passively, backing in the lift themselves, shooting at anyone who opposes them. Mercy is given sparingly.

"Makarov's moved to the restaurant. Same floor. He's got a large security detail with him. Hold on to your balls, boys." Frost says over the radio.

The lift starts upwards. "What kind of opposition's waiting for us?" Price asks.

"Forty plus foot mobiles. SMGs and assault rifles. Like I said, hold on to your balls."

Yuri looks up at the sound of helicopter blades, frowning. "Choppers."

"One of them is heading for the roof. Probably going for Makarov." Ghost says reaching over to Steven and wordlessly showing him the proper way to reload.

"Orders, sir—" Yuri's question is cut off when one of the helicopters hones in on their position, firing at them. The glass walls of the elevator shatter and Steven is knocked backwards, grunting softly. There's no time to be sure the youngest man is all right. The three others all turn their guns on the enemy chopper and fire away.

It's sent reeling through the night sky; a flaming bird knocked from the air.

But something's wrong. The pilot, clearly willing to see his job through to the end, steers the falling helicopter right for them!

"LOOK OUT!" Ghost yells. He grabs at the back of Price's armor and drags him backwards, sending both himself and the older man to the floor beside Steven.

There's a heart-stopping jolt as the flaming chopper crashes into the building just above them. Yuri screams and falls against the back wall, his body aflame.

Flames dance in Ghost's vision and suddenly, he sees a face flickering in them. Roach's. "No…No…No!" The man writhes and screams and reaches for him. Ghost snatches at air, trying desperately to save his friend. He can't reach him. He can't reach him! Then, there's a new face. Gadget. She's reaching for Ghost, hands burning, cheeks tearstained and eyes pitiful. Contorted with pain. Gritting her teeth. Pulling him out. Onto his feet.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" Steven shouts, forcing Ghost against the wall. They're both aflame, armor shredded and burning. He shakes the other man, who is staring at him blankly. "GHOST! GHOST SNAP OUT OF IT!"

Yuri rips the burning armor off of himself and throws it away, joining Steven and doing the same for both of the other men. "Ghost! We have to go!"

Ghost blinks and nods and seems to resurface, though still distant. "Right. Price?"

Without their armor, they are no longer immortal. They are men. Men against impossible odds. Again.

"Nikolai, we need another lift!" Price orders.

"Copy, on its way."

He looks to the others. "Stick to the plan. This doesn't change anything."

Ghost grins and pulls his balaclava from his Kevlar. He puts it on. "Let's do this."

The elevator gives a dangerous lurch and Steven sprawls forward slightly, just barely catching his balance. "This won't hold much longer, gentlemen!"

"Jump!" Yuri shouts.

They do.

No one ever makes the first jump. As the floor of the elevator gives another shudder and falls out from beneath him, Hawkins doesn't get as much momentum as the others. He falters. Leaps. The others land securely. The wind is knocked from his lungs as he manages to get his upper torso onto the other lift.

The floor is polished marble he realizes as he slips along it. A scream. A scrabble. And he's falling. Howling.

He's falling!

…for an instant.

Two hands close around his wrists and the scream is cut short. A smiling skull balaclava looks down at him, sunglasses hiding the eyes. A thousand feet below Steven's legs, his gun hits the ground, shattering.

With a pained grunt and Yuri's help, Ghost gets Steven back onto solid ground.

"Thank you…" The actor says breathlessly, heart still hammering from the ordeal.

Ghost doesn't respond.

One thing is on his mind. Kill Makarov.

"Makarov's chopper just touched down. He's heading there now!" Frost informs them. "Keep moving. You've got approximately four minutes."

"He's not getting away!" Price says concretely.

Nikolai's voice returns. "Be careful! They are setting up barricades."

Steven launches himself forward the moment the doors open, only to be dragged back forcefully by Yuri. "Watch yourself, Hawkins. Your armor is gone!" He reminds him sternly.

The fighting takes longer now that the playing field is empty of immortals. They have to tread carefully, check their corners, and watch for civilians. It's not what Steven was used to. There's fear now. Fear of death. Fear of failure.

Time is slipping away; time they can't afford to lose.

Even with encouragement from the others, Steven is beginning to slow down, breathing unevenly.

But then, "I CAN SEE HIM!" Steven roars, bursting forward with renewed strength.

"Hawkins, wait-!"

Price's warning comes a moment too late. Steven lets out a shout, tumbling to the ground, hands at his side. Yuri immediately starts after him, but another unforeseen danger greets him.

Another helicopter flies into view, spotlight directed straight towards the Russian.

His mouth opens to warn the others.

But again, it's a moment too soon.

A rocket explodes not four feet from their position and sends them all to the ground in heaps. Another takes out the nearby column. Debris and chairs fly. Another rocket.

The floor gives out.

Falling. Shouting. Price scrabbles at the ground, trying to gain hold of something as he slides towards the now shattered windows. His hands close around a metal rod just as his legs slip over the edge, dangling dangerously over the concrete thousands of feet below. He bellows and drags himself forward.

Then he sees it, his blood going cold.

Yuri lies a few feet away from him, a piece of jagged metal stuck through him like a pin, keeping him stuck in place. He groans in pain. Seeing Price, a weak little smile crosses his face.

"Yuri…" Price scrambles to his feet and starting over to help him.

"Leave me!" The man insists. "Don't let him get away!"

It isn't easy. But Price obeys.

Ghost moans in pain, rolling over and forcing the debris off of himself. Steven is lying face down. He's not moving. He's not breathing. "Sorry, mate." Ghost whispers, turning his back and taking off.

There's one thing on his mind. Kill Makarov.

He's so close. So close. He SAW the bastard. Saw him running. He can't let him get away. Not now. "Price!" Ghost calls, spotting his captain. "Where's Yuri?"

Price doesn't answer. Ghost understands.

They run. They run in spite of all the pain and the fires and the ravaged debris. They run because they know that if they don't get him now, it's all over.

They run.

"He's dead ahead! Keep going!" Frost shouts.

And there he is.

Makarov.

Climbing into his helicopter.

Taking off.

It's over.

They've lost.

He escaped.

He won all over again.

Price starts to slow down, reaching for his gun to fire and discovering it was lost when the rockets knocked him to the floor.

It's over.

They've lost.

Ghost doesn't slow down.

Even as the chopper lifts off, he doesn't stop.

Sprinting full speed, he launches himself from the edge of the building, reaching out and catching the landing skid.

Not this time.

He won't let that bastard win.

Not now.

Ghost grunts and reaches up, grabbing the pilot by the front of his shirt and pulling hard. The man falls, screaming.

"YOU!" Ghost shouts, clambering upwards. He and the co-pilot are face to face. Startled for only an instant at the smiling skull before him, the Russian draws his gun. Ghost, however, fuelled with unhinged rage, grabs the man's wrist and twists, forcing him to fire at the helicopter's controls.

Then, he grabs his knife and embeds it in the bastard's throat before grabbing the stick and forcing it forward.

For a moment, all he can hear is his own breathing. His own heartbeat. His blood rushing through his veins.

And then, the terrible groan of metal bending at the helicopter crashes into the roof of the Oasis.

Darkness.

Price, knocked unconscious from the crash, slowly comes to his senses. He can see Ghost's upper body beneath the wrecked helicopter, blood pooling around him. "Ghost…" He murmurs, trying to lift his head. A dizzy, nauseaous feeling unhinges him and Price has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment.

When he opens them fury runs free.

Makarov staggers from the flames. Coughing and spulltering. Doubled over in pain.

One objective, Price reminds himself. Kill Makarov.

Impossibly, there's a handgun lying on the rooftop not five feet away. In his battered condition, though, Price is forced to drag himself towards it.

And Makarov sees him.

There's a terrible moment of realization as Price drags himself to the gun and Makarov staggers towards Price. One has to reach their goal first. And it looks as though the Russian will once again be the victor.

The moment Price's hand closes around the gun, Makarov stomps on his wrist, sending a wave of fresh pain through the captain.

A thousand thoughts rush through Price's mind as Makarov bends down and takes the gun in his own hand.

He's staring down the barrel.

Bracing himself to die.

Bracing himself for failure.

Bracing himself for absolution.

Merciless and treasuring the moment, Makarov glares at the battered man. "Goodbye, Captain Price."

BANG!

Makarov howls in pain as a bullet tears through his shoulder.

Price lifts his head to see Ghost, blood seeping from his clothing, limping forward, gun aimed at Makarov, firing time and time again.

For a moment, relief.

And then, Makarov turns on Ghost.

With three, impeccably placed shots, Ghost crumples to the ground, groaning.

That's enough.

Fury. White hot. Blinding. It takes hold of Price and he launches forward, grabbing Makarov by the throat. Squeezing. Cutting off the air. There's a scrabble and for a moment, he is forced to let go. Three, impeccably place punches. Stiff, short punches that do not miss. Blood sprays from Makarov's lips and Price wraps his hands around the devil's throat again.

All the lives that this man has extinguished. All the power. All the wealth. All the glory and the fear and the terror. All of it is seeping out of his eyes as Price chokes him. He doesn't let up. Not even as the man below grips his shoulders, punches his chest, cries out in agony. Nothing is stopping Price. Not now. Not after he's come so far.

There's only one thing that exists.

One objective.

Kill Makarov.

And he does.

The man goes limp. He rasps one last time. And he is dead.

Still squeezing, as though he is unable to believe that it is really over, Price blinks, staring at the corpse beneath him. He lets go. Sits back. Gazes in awe of what he's done.

Objective completed.

With awed silence, Captain John Price drags himself off of the dead man and sits back, panting and shaking still. Satisfaction. Unhindered, unfathomable satisfaction flows through him.

He's dead.

Makarov. Is. Dead.

It sinks in.

The cigar he smokes on top of that roof is, without a doubt, the best he has ever had.

JANUARY 30th.

Cameras flash from all angles. Reporters chatter excitedly. Laughter. Peace.

The satisfaction hasn't stopped. It hasn't let up. Even in the times of grief following the death of his friends; Price hasn't had a moment without it. He doesn't even mind the irritating interviews and press conferences so much. He let's Steven do all the talking anyways. The war is over. Makarov is dead. Things are finally quiet and…normal again.

Steven, who is confined to a wheelchair for the rest of the foreseeable future, has the press laughing and scribbling in their notebooks as he relays the—completely false—story of how the terrorist was killed. It involved a team of people who didn't exist and a place that no one had heard of. Thanks to his girlfriend's father, President Vorshevsky, the real events had been hushed up completely.

Frost sits passively by, his arms crossed, and his head down. Peace and satisfaction or not; he hates these things. If it weren't for Hawkins delivering a full blown monologue about the valiant efforts of imaginary men, he'd be ripping his own hair out right now.

There's no question, though, that the most on-edge one of the four is Nikolai. He isn't good at dealing with all the cameras and the excitement. He thought that after it was over that…well…it would be over. He'd have time to mourn, time to himself, and time to move on. Instead there's this. Wave after wave of questions and debriefings and more questions. He just wants to go home.

But, as the days wear on, things do quiet down. Life returns to the way it should be.

Eventually, Steven does learn how to walk again. It takes a lot of time and a lot of devotion, but he's gotten much better at commitment. Just ask Alena. She knows.

Price returns to active duty and retains the 141 from the very top, with Nikolai at his right hand, Yuri heading up the team stationed in Russia, and Frost the XO of the 'Prima Donna' squad.

Terrance is released from jail soon after the ending of war. He returns to his practice as a pilot; though legally now. He works for the Red Cross.

Time passes.

Wounds heal.

And things seem a bit brighter than they did the day before.

The End.

…

…

…

…

…

Darkness.

A sort of light, dizzy feeling.

Ghost slowly opens his eyes.

Soft green grass ripples in his vision. Warm breeze seeps over his skin. Sunshine. Birds singing. A strange sort of music floating in the air.

An odd sort of reassurance takes hold of him and, strangely, he knows that he is dead and accepts it in the same moment. So…where is he?

"Thought you'd be joining the club sooner rather than later." The voice is familiar.

Ghost rolls onto his back and looks up at the man next to him. "Alex?"

Gadget's brother Alex, whom Ghost only knew from the time he'd gone with her to visit him on holiday, smiles at the other man and holds out his hand. "The one and only."

It's only now that Ghost realizes that Alex isn't in his wheelchair. He's standing squarely on two legs. As though knowing exactly what Ghost is thinking, Alex smiles and pats his leg. "Nice, isn't it? I'm whole again in every sense."

Ghost is pulled to his feet. He finds it easy to stand. He's unburdened. Weightless. A shimmering sort of feeling taking over his lungs as he breathes. "Where…?"

The question goes unfinished. There's a sudden whoop of excitement and Ghost turns to see Meat, Roach, Scarecrow, Archer, Toad, Ozone…everyone from the 141, his whole team, smiling and completely whole and exactly as he remembered them. They're safe. They're free. They're not in any more pain. The world seems brighter, the warmth intensifies.

Alex puts his arm around Ghost's shoulder, smiling knowingly. "Let's put it this way. You're home."

There's a long span of time as Ghost looks around at the lot of him where he can't speak. They all just smile and laugh and give their own separate form of greeting. A nod from Archer. A salute from Meat. A joking roll of the eyes from Ozone. Toad bows.

All the faces that he'd come to cherish smile back at them and there's no doubt.

"Where's Emily?" He murmurs.

A hand slips into his. It squeezes gently.

He looks over his shoulder.

And there she is.

Scarless and complete and smiling and tearfully laughing. Ghost can't help himself. He breaks down, right there, arms pressing her close. Gadget laughs to, pressing her forehead into the curve of his neck, hands clinging to the front of his shirt. Wordlessly, he pulls back to just look at her.

Suddenly, there's only one thing that matters. Gadget. Emily.

She's so different and so incredibly the same at once. There's no scars. No purple circles of exhaustion beneath her eyes. No bruises. No pain. No tiredness. No fear. No blood. No vengeance. So different. There's life and happiness and overwhelmed joy and she's exactly as he always saw her.

She's complete.

And Simon realizes that now…

Now he is too.

Without needing to say a word, Simon kisses Emily cherishingly, arms around her waist, a smile still on his lips.

And they're whole. They're free.

_**Finn. **_


End file.
